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9 




The Mountain View. Frontispiece. 








“THEIR CHILDREN.” 


BY 

MES. HENET STEELE CLAEKE, 

ATTTHOB OB’ 

“MARBLE PREACHER* 



9uhUshed by 2). Jlothrop S- (do. 

iDover^ JJ. H. : G, T, (Day <&• Co» 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, 
By D. LOTHROP & COMPANY, 

In the OflSce of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


BY WAY OF PREFACE. 


The writer of the following pages desires 
to say that to neither myth, legend or story, 
is she indebted for the idea of Antonio’s 
Bronze. Such a statement would seem unne- 
cessary had she not been repeatedly ques- 
tioned as to the source from which she drew 
her conception of Lombardo’s Temple, as 
described in “The Marble Preacher.” 

She claims entire originality for both Tem- 
ple and Bronze, while freely and gratefully 
acknowledging her indebtedness to other wri- 
ters for many thoughts and illustrations used 
in unfolding the truths these works of art 
were intended to teach. 

The incidents described by Herr Lenz, in . 
his account of his trip to Gottengen, are 
mainly borrowed, as are, also, the glowing 
words used by Charles Franse when speaking 
of autumn scenery iii New England, but 
with these exceptions the merit or otherwise 
of the book rests wholly with the author. 

3 


TO THE 

MEMORY OF OUR MOTHER, 

WHOSE TENDER INTEREST AND ENCOURAGE- 
MENT INSPIRED THE AUTHOR DURING THE 
PREPARATION OF THE FOLLOWING PA- 
GES, BUT WHOSE LOVING EYE 
WELL NEVER REST UPON 
THE PRINTED LINES. 

“Her price is far above rubies. Strength and honor are her 
clothing. Her children arise up and call her blessed.” 

“Thou Shalt come to thy grave in a full age, like as a shock 
of com cometh in his season.” 


4 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. PAGE 

In which we Link Past and Present. ... 7 

CHAPTER II. 

In which we do the same 14 

CHAPTER III. 

Clouds 24 

CHAPTER lY. 

The Ride to Oak Cliff 33 

CHAPTER Y. 

The Storm Bursts 43 

CHAPTER YI. 

.Lottie and the Baby 52 

CHAPTER YII. 

Eranse follows Blakemere 63 

CHAPTER YIII. 

Herr Humbert 71 

CHAPTER IX. 

Kurt of Alten Aar. -83 

CHAPTER X. 

The Professor’s Home • . . 95 

CHAPTER XI. 

Light and Shade 107' 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Puppy and the Concert. . . ' . . . 128 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Dr. Allison makes a Call, and the Baby puts the 

Puppy to Bed 145 

CHAPTER XIY. 

l^lADAJVI Liebnitz. 155 




o 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XV. PAGE 

Paralysis. 171 

CHAPTER XVI. 

In the Grasp of Disease. • . 185 

CHAPTER XVII. 

• The Inner and Outer Man 199 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Mischief Done by a Grindstone. . . . 217 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Mabel takes a Ride with Dr. Allison. . . . 231 

CHAPTER XX. 

In which we see what came of it 253 

CHAPTER XXI. 

In which a Pleasure Excursion is Arranged. . 269 

CHAPTER XXII. 

"Wessenfels, and John Frederick Williajvi Jerusa- 
lem Miller 288 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

How Good-natured People Conduct Themselves 

UNDER Difficulties. 308 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Herr Humbert at School 323 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Herr Humbert finishes his Lesson 341 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

A Glad Meeting. ........ 358 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

The Bastion of the Ottowalder Grund. . . . 376 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Expianation 404 



“THEIR CHILDREN.” 


CHAPTER I. 

HE home of Charles and Gretchen 
Franse is to-night the scene of a gay 
wedding, for though the Herr Professor 
and his sister, whose lives are familiar 
to readers of “ The Marble Preacher,” have 
long since ascended .where there is neither 
marrying nor giving in marriage, the twins who 
bear their names are still on earth, and one has 
been a bride for nearly an hour. 

She is very like her father, the dear Profes- 
sor, even to the wonderful light that comes into 

7 



8 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


her eyes, especially when for a moment they are 
raised to her husband’s handsome face. 

Her brother regards her with the same pro- 
tecting tenderness he has manifested from his 
earliest childhood. He always considered 
Gretchen as his especial care, and possibly the 
troubled look in his eyes, so unsuited to the gay 
scene about him comes from the pain of giving 
her into the keeping of another. 

“Jealous already, Charles?” whispered Ma- 
bel Flopstock, who, as first bridesmaid, was 
his partner for the evening. Then without 
waiting for, an answer she laid her white gloved 
hand on his arm and said, earnestly, though 
beneath her breath, “ I beg of you, put on a 
merrier face. Try and make the best of it now 
it can’t be helped. Gretchen won’t thank you 
for telling everybody that you don’t like her 
marriage.” 

“ Nonsense, Mabel ! ” • Charles replied, half 
impatiently, his affectionate look meanwhile 
contradicting the tone, for he loved this child .of 
his half sister, the Mabel of “The Marble 
Preacher,” almost as fondly as he did Gretchen. 

“Well, take my advice,” she said, turning away. 


“ Their Children'' 


9 


Meantime in a quiet nook a little to one side, 
sat two elderly matrons engaged in free and not 
wholly friendly comment on the scene. “ Well, 
well, sighed Mrs. Carper, “these young folks 
are a long way behind their parents, if I’m any 
judge. Just think of Professor Franse and that 
sister of his, what people they were, to be sure.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” chimed in Madam De Rogate, 
“and Mrs. Marsdon, too (I never could learn 
to call her Madam Franse). Then there was 
her daughter Mabel, to say nothing of Gretchen 
Flopstock, and her son Frederick, that Mabel 
married. Just think what a work he did among 
the hands employed in that Cantrell firm.” 

“ WeU, well, his wife kept up with him, and 
often got ahead,” Mrs. Carper answered with 
spirit. 

“Very likely,” rejoined the other, “but no 
matter which went first, the good was done, and 
neither time nor money was squandered in show 
and nonsense.” 

“ Tut, tut, my good ladies,” interposed Mr. 
Cheeryble, an elderly gentleman, who had 
listened, amused, to this conversation. “If by 
show and nonsense you mean such fine doings 


10 


Their Children,'*^ 


as this party, we all come under condemnation, 
inasmuch as we countenance it by our pres- 
ence.” 

“ On the principle that the partaker is as bad 
as the thief?” retorted Mrs. Carper. 

“Exactly, my dear Madam,” he replied. 

“But you don’t deny the truth of what has 
been said, I presume,” remarked Madam De 
Rogate. 

“ So far as the conversation regarded the 
noble parents and relatives of these young 
people, I can heartily say amen to it, but when 
it comes to your estimate of Charles and Gret- 
chen Franse, with their niece, or cousin, as they 
call her, Mabel Flopstock, I must beg leave to 
differ. That the children are as yet inferior to 
their predecessors, I allow, yet I find in them very 
much both to love and admire. There is much 
pure gold in each, which I am sure the Divine 
Refiner will in ways best known to himself, 
purify from the dross that now mars it.” 

“ I hope so,” sighed the lady, elevating her 
eyebrows, “but really I see no sign of their 
putting themselves in the way of being so 
refined.” 


“ Their Children.'^'’ 


11 


“It must have grieved the pious old pro- 
fessor, to say nothing of his good wife .and 
sister, that they were called to go without 
seeing those twins safe in the fold.” 

“No doubt they would have regarded such 
a sight as one of God’s choicest blessings,” 
returned Mr. Cherry ble, gravely. “I well re- 
member Herr Franse’s words to me on this 
very subject but a day or two before he died. 
He said, ‘ Many good gifts has the All Father 
bestowed upon me, but these children seem 
to have come most directly from his hand. I 
have tried to train them for him. In leav- 
ing them I have no fear. I can trust them 
wholly in his hands. He will complete the 
good work in them, I know not how or when, 
but they will come home to me in heaven.’ ” 

“Well, to look in here to-night one would 
think their hearts were still considerably set 
on the things of this life,” carped Mrs. Carper. 
“Judging from appearances, they have spent 
no end of money. Then just think of a 
wedding tour in Europe, of six months or a 
year ! What a contrast to the quiet way Mrs. 
Marsdon and Mabel managed their affairs.” 


12 


Their Children,'*'* 


“Granted,” replied the gentleman. “But 
I think the display is due more to the groom 
than the bride. Blakemere is undoubtedly a 
little extravagant and fond of show.” 

“How strange a girl like Gretchen should 
have loved such a man ! ” said Madame De 
Rogate. 

“ Why strange ? ” asked Mr. Cheriyble, with 
a quizzical twinkle in his eye. “If Gretchen 
Franse, or rather Blakemere, belongs to that 
degenerate company of young scapegoats upon 
whom I found you ladies sitting in judgment, 
she does not require much in the man she 
marries.” 

“None of your sauce here, sir,” replied 
Madame De Rogate, defiantly shaking her 
finger at her adversary. “My stomach is too 
old to bear it. You know very well that 
Gretchen’s .strong resemblance to her father, 
both in intellect and character, make it seem 
impossible she should ever be happy with such 
a superficial, visionary, extravagant man as 
Philip Blakemere. I wonder her brother ever 
consented to it; but I suppose if she wanted 
to be burnt at the stake, he would consent, 
rather than contradict her.” 


“ Their Children'^ 


13 


“Perhaps you put it a little strongly,” Mr. 
Cherryhle replied, with provoking coolness. 
“But I believe it is true that neither her 
brother nor Mabel Flopstock favored the 
match. Blakemere is, however, a gentleman, 
with more than ordinary business capacity, 
and what to Gretchen will be of great im- 
.portance, an exquisite taste in and love for 
music. But see, the party is breaking up.” 

“ Then we must go with the rest,” the 
ladies said, rising. And together with Mr. 
Cherryble, they made their way to the bride, 
when having wished her all the happiness they 
had just decided it was impossible for her to 
have, they departed. 



CHAPTER II. 

OON the rooms lately so crowded held 
only the bridal pair with their imme- 
diate attendants. Gretchen was hur- 
ried away to exchange her wedding for 
her travehng dress, and all was bustle and con- 
fusion. 

The carriage was at the door. There was 
barely time to reach the train, and so with 
hasty farewells sounding in her ears, Gretchen 
was snatched away from all the associations 
of her previous life. 

Charles and Mabel go with the young 
couple to see them set sail for Europe. In- 
deed, the brother is strongly inclined to ac- 
company them all the way, and but for 
business engagements, he would certainly be 
the one too many on this bridal trip. He 
14 



“ Their Children,'*^ 


15 


has forced himself to endure a temporary sep- 
ara'‘''n, however, in the hope that so his sis- 
ter’s happiness will be best promoted. 

Soon they go flying through the night 
gloom as on the wings of the wind. For 
Gretchen the fatigue and excitement of weeks 
have reached their climax on this eventful 
evening. So she is glad to rest on one of 
the sofas in the luxurious car that Blakemere 
has secured for the sole use of the party. 
Too weary for words, she can onl}^ close her 
beautiful eyes while she tries to calm her 
emotions. 

Mabel is weary too, and glad of an easy- 
chair beside the sofa, while the gentlemen, 
quite ready for their share of the refreshing 
quiet, choose such portions of the remaining 
comforts as best suit them. 

The silence that followed gave Mabel the 
impression that all were soon asleep. As for 
herself, her mind was too busy with that 
painful activity which often follows bodily ex- 
haustion, to permit her to imitate their example. 

She thought of her mother, and what she 
had too often heard her grandmother, Gretchen 


16 


“ Their Children J"' 


Flopstock, say of the quiet bridal by the lake- 
let near their cottage. 

When a little child, she was never weary 
of hearing the story, and having the exact 
spot pointed out to her. Then the dear Herr 
Professor, and his stately wife, her other grand- 
mother, rose before her mental vision. No less 
dearly did she love to hear the story of their 
bridal, and she had long known by heart the 
hymn they sang in the beloved music room 
at Eau Claire. Involuntarily came the strong 
contrast between these scenes, as represented 
to her childish fancy, and those so fresh in her 
experience. 

Then she remembered the words of the 
wise man, “I said in my heart, go to, now, I 
will prove thee with mirth; therefore enjoy 
pleasure, and behold this also is vanity. I 
said of laughter, it is mad, and of mirth, what 
doeth it ? ” Just now in her weariness, and 
regret at the parting so near at hand, she was 
ready to admit the truth of the passage. Al- 
though young, she had already tasted some 
bitter draughts of sorrow. To-night her mind 
goes back to her childhood, when with her 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


17 


brother and sisters, the one older, the others 
younger than herself, she had spent, as it now 
seemed, one long summer day, lasting not 
hours, but months and years, while all the 
happy way danced hand in hand the little 
Gretchen and her twin brother, playfellows, 
schoolmates, and warm friends, seeming more 
to Mabel like another pair in the home nest 
over which her mother brooded, than the com- 
ical little uncle and aunt they really were in 
virtue of the singular relationship existing be- 
tween their elders. 

Then came sad memories of the dear Herr 
Professor’s patient fading out of life, soon fol- 
lowed by the death of his faithful wife. Be- 
fore long Gretchen, the Professor’s saintly 
sister, faltered and fell by the way, leaving 
the twin orphans to the care of their half- 
sister, the ‘‘Leipsic Mabel,” a title hallowed 
by its associations with an eventful past. 

But all this was little when compared with 
the anguish occasioned by the sudden loss of 
her father, Frederick Flopstock. She well re- 
membered the gentle resignation with which 
her mother, when the first shock was past, 
2 


18 


“ Their Children.^"' 


gathered her children together in the cottage 
that was her early home, and with her six, 
as she said, fondly stroking the hair of her 
little twin brother and sister, set herself 
bravely to the work of filling to each and all 
the places of those who had been taken. 

This Mabel Flopstock could recall with 
calmness, for she was little more than a child 
when she became fatherless. But the tears 
sprang to her eyes at the thought of her 
mother’s departure, followed as it soon was 
by that of her brother and youngest sister. 
During the next year, Lottie, all that now 
remained to her of her own family, was mar- 
ried and removed to a distance, thus leaving 
her alone with Charles and Gretchen Franse. 

As the life of a plant, when deprived of its 
many branches throws itself into the remain- 
ing few, so Mabel’s affectionate nature con- 
centrated itself upon the trio that remained 
to her. She was thus made keenly sensible 
of the reasons upon which Charles Franse had 
opposed his sister’s marriage, giving liim her 
hearty sympathy, and so far as she might, 
seconding his efforts to prevent it. 


“ Their Children.'^'’ 


19 


Philip Blakemere had become known at the 
cottage only two years previous to the time 
of which we now write. He then came to 
Eau Claire as teller in the bank of which his 
uncle, Mr. Blakemere, was President. 

During the first year of his service, Charles 
Franse held the responsible position of cashier 
in the same establishment, which in view of 
his youth was a high tribute to his capacit} 
and trustworthiness as a business man. He 
had been thoroughly trained in this direction, 
yet his inclinations led him strongly toward 
the pursuit of natural science and all kindred 
studies ; so at the end of a year he resigned 
his position to give himself more entirely to 
his favorite work. 

Young Blakemere having proved himself ca- 
pable and efficient in his place, was, through 
the influence of his uncle, appointed to this 
vacancy. 

Meantime he became a favorite in the social 
circles of Eau Claire, because to a fine ex- 
terior, and cultivated manners, he added con- 
siderable talent, especially for music, in which 
he was highly accomplished. To this attrac- 


20 


“ Their Children.^'* 


tion he principally owed his success in win- 
ning the love of Gretchen Franse. Little 
dreaming whither it was tending, Charles 
watched the beginning of their friendship with 
sincere pleasure, as affording his sister a new 
source of enjoyment, for she seldom found 
any one so capable as Blakemere of sympathy 
with that rare musical talent which, among 
other gifts, she had inherited from her father. 
When at last his brotherly eyes were suddenly 
opened to the truth, the two were floating far 
beyond recall on the rosy sea of love. 

Then followed earnest remonstrance, which 
Gretchen, gentle as the south wind but firm as 
the rocks over which it blows, always met with 
the quiet answer that when any valid objection 
to her choice was advanced it would be time to 
reconsider it. 

Here was. her stronghold, for her brother was 
unable to define even to liimself why he felt so 
strong a dislike to Blakemere, when viewed in 
the light of Gretchen’s future husband. 

There were times, however, when the mere 
sight of him seemed to chill and darken every- 
thing like a sudden cloud in a summer sky. It 


Their Children'' 


21 


was not that his ideas and habits of expenditure 
were confessedly lavish. He had quite a for- 
tune, and was beside in the receipt of a 
handsome salary, which with Gretchen’s own 
income would secure them not only comfort but 
luxury. Nor was it that he failed to love and 
value the fair girl who was to her brother as 
the apple of his eye. 

It was not that outside approval was wanting, 
for on every hand he was greeted with congrat- 
ulations upon the highly suitable match his 
sister was to form. 

But despite all, he could not conquer his 
aversion, in which he was strengthened if not 
confirmed by accidentally discovering that 
Mabel shared it. 

All efforts to open Gretchen’s love-blinded 
eyes proved unavailing, however, and her 
brother at last desisted, convinced of the truth 
uttered by the great dramatist when he said, — 

“ Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 

Thou would’ St as soou go kindle fire Avith snow 
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.” 

But now the matter is irrevocably fixed, 
regrets and retrospection are alike useless, and 


22 


“ Their Children.^'* 


so Charles, who like Mabel has all this time 
pretended to be asleep while his mind was busy 
with the past, determined to dismiss the whole 
subject. This commendable resolution he car- 
ried out by trying for the thousandth time to 
define the precise cause of his dislike to Blake- 
mere. 

Was it because his eye, bright, dark, but rest- 
less, could never meet another without waver- 
ing and seeking the ground, or because his hand 
always seemed in a hurry to withdraw itself 
from the cordial grasp of a friend? Was it 
because he had a retreating chin, and always 
wore an irreproachable necktie? Were these 
reasons to be accepted as sufficient ground upon 
which to rest his unconquerable aversion to his 
new brother-in-law ? 

Surely not; therefore he would love him as 
he ought, which determination bore immediate 
fruit in the act of covering Blakemere’s sleeping 
form with a traveling blanket. Then he stole 
to Gretchen’s sofa to find her slumbering quiet- 
ly, with a smile on her sweet mouth. Mabel 
smiled up at him also, and put her finger on 
her hps, seeing him about to whisper a question. 


23 


“ Their Children,'^ 

so he went back to his own place, and at last 
fell asleep, not waking till the melody of the 
steam whistle roused the entire party to the 
consciousness that morning had again returned. 

This day and part of the following night were 
required to complete the journey, bringing them 
to New York barely in season to make their 
final arrangements for sailing. 

Blakemere was much occupied with private 
business, that required him to leave Gretchen 
almost wholly to her, .brother’s care, so that they 
had spent some quiet hours together in the ship 
before Blakemere came on board, hours that 
succeeding events made very precious to the 
memory of each. 

“ God bless you both ! ” Charles said fervent- 
ly, when the time for parting came. “He only 
knows what this separation costs me ; and 
Philip, as you deal with this precious girl so 
may he deal with you.” 

Again he took his sobbing sister in his arms, 
and without another word went away, followed 
by Mabel. 



CHAPTER III. 

FTER watching the majestic steamer 
weigh anchor and begin its trackless 
course over the' ocean, Charles and 
Mabel turned their faces at once toward 

home. 

Mr. Blakemere’s consent to his nephew’s pro- 
longed absence could only be obtained upon 
condition that Franse would supply his place. 
Therefore no time was to be lost in returning to 
Eau Claire. 

Sterne says, “ If there is an evil in this world 
’tis sorrow and heaviness of heart,” and no 
doubt our young travelers thought so too, as 
they sat silently side by side, speeding on with 
ruthless hurry, -every moment widening the dis- 
tance between them and her who had made 
24 



“ Their Children^ 


25 


home so beautiful to them both. Now and then 
Charles felt a hand steal into his for sympathy, 
and as often he responded with a loving clasp, 
but they uttered no word until a change of cars 
compelled them to shake off their depression at 
le^st for the moment. 

After securing their new seats, they seemed 
again floating out upon a sea of silence as pro- 
found if not as wide as that upon which their 
lost Gretchen was rocking, when Charles was 
aroused by a cordial “ How are you, young man? 
Sorry to see you looking so blue.” 

Thus addressed, he sprang hastily to his feet, 
returning the hearty hand-shake bestowed on 
him by Mr. Elliot with all the warmth he felt 
for this old friend of his father, who had also 
been a friend to himself and Gretchen all their 
lives. 

“This parting with the little sister is sorry 
business to be sure,” he continued in his cheery 
way, “ but never mind ; we will soon have her 
back among us, with no end of foreign nonsense 
in her pretty head.” 

Mabel then coming in for her share of atten- 
tion, and the gentlemen being seated, con v^ersa- 


26 


“ Their Children,'^'' 


tion began to flow more freely, at least on the 
part of our hitherto silent travelers. 

‘‘ I was sorry enough not to help in tying this 
very important knot in the thread of Miss 
Gretchen’s life,” Mr. Elliot went on, “ but busi- 
ness detained me in New York. By the way^ I 
understand your new brother-in-law is a fine 
match, so far as money is concerned. Hartly 
tells me he is entering largely into speculations 
that promise well.” 

“I hardly think that possible,” Charles re- 
turned. “ Philip’s private means would not 
warrant any very extensive operations of that 
kind, and I am certain he has no borrowed capi- 
tal.” 

‘‘Very likely you are right, Franse,” Mr. 
Elliot rejoined. “ Hartly spoke merely from 
hearsay. I would rather believe the young man 
contented with a safe, if not rapid, increase of 
money. This mania for speculation hinders 
more fortunes than it helps, and yet the young 
ones never seem to take warning, but must learn 
the truth by their own hard experience. Dear 
me I I wish I could lend ’em the eyes of my 
observation to look through, it would save rnany 
a poor soul. 


“ Their Children,^' 


2T 


“But dear me, wliat dull talk for this dear 
young lady,” he added, turning gallantly to Ma- 
bel, who greeted his mock devotion with a 
merry laugh so like the “ Leipsic Mabel’s” that 
it seemed to come directly out of the past. 

“ Oh, you know times are changed, Mr. 
Elliot,” she answered, gayly. “Now you can 
hardly compliment a lady more highly than to 
take it for granted she is interested and in- 
formed on all manly topics. When we women 
begin to speculate, we shall distance all male 
competitors. Masculine wealth will then take 
to itself wings and come flying into our coffers.” 

“No doubt, no doubt,” was the laughing re- 
ply, “ but I fear if you apply the positive end of 
your feminine magnet to the attraction of ‘mas- 
culine gold, you will And the negative end 
toward its former owners.” 

“ Perhaps,” she answered merrily. “ And 
yet will not our gold of itself overcome any such 
repulsion ? ” 

“Ah, you sly calumniator!” exclaimed Mr. 
Elliot, in great glee. “ I look for nothing but to 
see you marry some Mr. Goldinhand, for no 
reason save his money bags.” 


28 


^'‘■Their Children,'*' 


“You will never see me do that, sir,” she 
answered with mimic scorn. “ When I so far 
forget myself, I shall not invite you to my wed- 
ding.” 

“And I should not come if you did,” he re- 
plied, with great gravity. “ So, on second 
thought, there is no probability that I shall ever 
witness such a sacrifice.” 

It was impossible to be long in Mr. Elliot’s 
company without being infected with his jovial 
good humor. In the present instance our heavy 
hearted young friends found their spirits rising 
to a degree that surprised themselves. Having 
been much abroad, he could paint such pleasant 
word pictures of the many places and things 
Gretchen was to see, at the same time drawing 
a fund of amusing anecdote from his own expe- 
rience, that the rest of the journey was per- 
formed in comparative cheerfulness. 

Arrived at home, they found all things in 
order and awaiting their return, but as is the 
familiar form when the soul is fled, so seemed 
the house without the presence of its gentle 
mistress; for such Gretchen had been since her 
“mamma sister,” as she delighted to call the 
“ Leipsic Mabel,” went home to God. 


“ Their Children. 


29 


As was the Herr Professor in his lofty sim- 
plicity of character, his purity, gentleness, and 
faith, so was this daughter of liis love. She 
seemed to have inherited from him, in full 
perfection, those mental and spiritual traits 
that in him had been gradually developed by 
a long course of discipline. 

What wonder then that all were amazed 
when Philip Blakemere secured her unbounded 
love and esteem, even in the face of most 
earnest remonstrance from both her brother 
and Mabel. 

But now this was a thing of the past, and 
Charles resolutely stifled regrets that were 
worse than useless, compelling his thoughts to 
fix themselves on the future with what of 
hope and satisfaction he could command. 

Suppressing a sigh of regret as he passed 
the well beloved library, he went on the 
morning following his return to Eau Claire, 
to recommence his labors at the bank, cheer- 
ing himself with the thought that the sepa- 
ration was but temporary, and borne for the 
sake of his darling sister. 

Mabel, rejoiced to see him thus bravely enter 


80 


Their Children,^^ 


on his irksome duties, did her best to dispel 
the loneliness, that made as it were a third 
presence in chamber, parlor and hall. 

A winsome girl was Mabel Flopstock, so 
like, yet so unhke her mother, so like, yet so 
unlike her father, a curious blending, with 
often a glow and sparkle of something all her 
own, original and fresh as one of the prime 
colors, not to be formed by ever so skillful 
blending of any other two. 

Many a man would have thought himself 
sufficiently blessed if she were near, but dearly 
as Franse loved her, she could not fill to him 
the place left vacant by his twin sister. Rea- 
son with himself as he would, time only seemed 
to make the separation harder to bear, and 
when, even earlier than they had hoped, let- 
ters arrived, giving unmistakable evidence of 
her happiness, he knew there mingled with 
his satisfaction an alloy of bitterness that 
Gretchen could thus enjoy herself when parted 
from him. 

As yet, he knew no stronger love than that 
he bore her, and so vexed himself, because, 
while loving him no less, she loved another 
more, and that other Blakemere. 


“ Their Children,'*'* 


31 


Mabel watching him closely, read him aright 
thus far, yet it seemed to her that the sim- 
ple fact of Gretchen’s marriage and temporary 
absence, did not sufficiently account for the 
marked change that began to steal over him, 
almost immiediately after he resumed his duties 
as cashier. 

By degress he lost his cheerful courtesy of 
manner, and became silent and abstracted. 
His eye at first took on a look of restless 
anxiety, very unlike its usual calm earnest- 
liess. Then there came into it an expression 
of pleading helplessness, such as we sometimes 
see in a suffering animal. 

His appetite was fitful, and she often heard 
his restless pacing to and fro far into the night. 

Alarmed and perplexed, Mabel tried every 
means in her power to win him back to his 
former cheerfulness, or if not, to win his con- 
fidence, and one day when playfully bantering 
him on his changed appearance, she said, — 

“You are a naughty boj^ Charles, and I 
am going to report you to Gretchen, and beg 
her to come home and see to you.” 

Suddenly he hfted his eyes to her face, 


32 


“ Their Children^ 


those helpless, pleading eyes, and exclaimed, 
“ O Mabel, if you love me, promise not to 
mention anything to Gretchen.” 

“Charles, what is the matter? May I not 
know ? I who have always been like an 
elder sister to you both?” Mabel said, plead- 
ingly. Her earnest eyes were full of affec- 
tion, and as she looked in his face she saw 
that for an instant he wavered in his stern 
purpose of secrecy. His overburdened soul 
gave a glad bound to grasp the comfort of 
her proffered sympathy, but the next moment 
the hopelessness came back into his eyes, the 
fixed resolve about his mouth. 

“No, Mabel, I must not, I cannot tell even 
you. Don’t urge me, and above all, promise 
me that Gretchen shall have no hint that 
anything is wrong. Have patience, Mabel. 
Possibly a way may open out of my difficul- 
ties. If not — ” He left the sentence unfin- 
ished, and springing hastily to his feet, left 
the room. 



CHAPTER IV. 

YSTERY magnifies danger, as a fog 
the sun.” Thus poor Mabel, left to 
conjecture, grew hourly more alarmed 
as to the meaning of Charles’ words. 
She longed for some one with whom to share 
her perplexity; some word of sympathy or 
counsel, but in no one dared she confide. 

Alas, alas ! That Infinite friend to whom 
her mother so early learned to fly for help in 
time of need, was to her a far off stranger; 
and so* as time wore on, making things worse 
rather than better, she almost sickened under 
the load that rested on her spirit. 

In the meantime came frequent letters from 
Gretchen, full of the joy that evidently filled 
her guileless heart almost to overflowing. 

3 33 



84 


“ Tlieir Children^ 


Her husband was all and more than she 
had believed him. The only shadow that 
5:ested on her heart, was her absence from 
home, Mabel, and above all, her beloved 
brother Charles. So wrote the happy young 
wife, yet strange to say, her words seemed 
only to intensify the cloud that now wrapped 
her brother in perpetual gloom, while yet he 
gave no sign of what he saw witliin. 

On one of these dark days Mabel received 
an invitation to join an equestrian party to 
Oak Chff, so called from a majestic tree that 
stood in sohtary grandeur upon a lofty bluff, 
some miles distant from Eau Claire. 

Her skill in, and fondness for this exercise, 
were both very great, and she consented with 
more readiness on this occasion, in the hope 
of finding relief from the almost intolerable 
anxiety that weighed her down. 

Her escort was to be George Werner, a 
warm friend of Pliilip Blakemere, with whom, 
as head teller in the bank of Blakemere & 
Co.', he had been intimately associated. He 
was a fine horseman and pleasant companion, 
so all promised fair for an afternoon of enjoy- 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


85 


ment in the valleys and upon the hills, over 
which a ripe October was now trailing her 
glorious autumn robes. 

A merrier party was seldom seen, and Mabel 
soon found her spirits rising under the com- 
bined influence of good company, delightful 
exercise, and the gorgeous coloring displayed 
on every twig and bough. 

Upon reaching the summit of Oak Cliff, our 
party found the view more than usually fine, 
owing to the singular clearness of the atmos- 
phere. 

“ I declare,” exclaimed Mr. Specs, a valiant 
young lawyer, who prided himself greatty upon 
his mental vision, “I declare, one can almost 
see those big New York firms topple over and 
become extinct, the air is so very diaphranous.” 

Mabel glanced merrily at Werner, sure of 
his S5^mpathy in her amusement at this out- 
burst of legal eloquence ; but instead, she saw 
that his face was colorless as he turned eagerly 
to Specs and demanded what he meant. 

“Mean, my dear fellow?” he rejoined, 
“why, I mean just what the telegrams and 
newspapers have meant all day. There is a 


36 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


sudden irruption of that financial volcano on 
which those New York speculators always 
stand, and a good many of ’em are being 
swallowed up. Where have you been not to 
know about it?” 

Werner made no answer. He sat for a 
moment as if stunned, then suddenly turning 
his horse, began rapidly to descend the steep 
path leading from the cliff. The party gazed 
after him in profound astonishment until he 
disappeared from sight. Then all eyes turned 
on Mabel, who, nervous from the effect of 
her continued anxiety about Charles Franse, 
instantly connected Werner’s strange pertur- 
bation with his mysterious depression. Pale 
and agitated, she seemed hardly able to re- 
tain her seat in the saddle. 

“May I have the pleasure of taking Mr. 
Werner’s place?” asked Dr. Allison, bring- 
ing his horse beside Mabel’s in such a way 
as to somewhat shield her from her compan- 
ions. “You know I am such a stranger in 
the town I failed to find a partner for the 
afternoon. You will do me a great favor by 
making me of use.” 


“ Their Children,'^ 


37 


The speaker was remarkable for neither 
grace nor beauty, except so far as a pair of 
very intelligent and expressive eyes could 
make him so ; yet the richness of his voice, 
and the elegance of his pronunciation, together 
with a bearing full of gentle respect, made 
him very winning. 

Mabel, as free from coquetry or affectation 
as was ever her mother, accepted his escort 
with grateful frankness, and soon regained her 
composure under his quiet but skillful atten- 
tions. Until now her acquaintance with him 
had been very slight. She only knew that 
he had lately established himself at Eau Claire 
as a physician, and that Mr. Elliot, having 
known him during his college and medical 
course^ had much to say in his favor, but so 
great progress was made during the ride home, 
that he seemed quite like an old friend when 
they parted at the cottage door, and she 
readily granted his request to be allowed to 
call and inquire how she fared after the fa- 
tigue of the afternoon. 

Once within the shelter of the home roof, 
however, her mind reverted at once to Wer- 


38 


“ Their Children^ 


ner’s Tinaccountable behavior, almost distract- 
ing her with vague apprehensions of she knew 
not what evil. She waited eagerly for Charles 
to return, that she might judge from his ap- 
pearance whether anything new had occurred 
to distress him. 

It was now long past his usual time for com- 
ing home, but as he had lately been often 
absent far into the evening, she argued notliing 
from it. The supper grew cold with waiting, 
hour after hour passed, and still she sat at the 
window listening between hope and fear for liis 
familiar tread upon the side-walk. 

At last she heard a quick step, followed by a 
loud ring at the street door. She sprang to 
open it herself, and received a note from the 
boy who waited. She tore it open, and read by 
the light of the hall lamp, these words : — 

“Deab Mabel,~Do not sit up for me. I 
shall not be home to-night, possibly not till late 
to-morrow. 

‘‘ Do not worry about me. 

“ Affectionately, Chaeles Feanse.” 

Oh I what did it all mean ? What could she, 


“ Their Children,'^'' 


39 


what ought she to do ? were the helpless ques- 
tions she asked herself. Should she take the 
faithful servant, who having come up at the 
ringing of the bell, now stood beside her, and go 
in search of explanation ? Should she summon 
some friend to her assistance ; and if so, who ? 

Alas, no ! she could only stay where she was 
and wait. With no clue to the trouble, she 
dared not move, lest harm should come of it. 
So she turned to the wondering girl, saying, — 

“ Mr. Charles has sent a note to say that bus- 
iness will detain him away all night. W e will 
fasten the house and go to bed.” 

“ But, Miss, you have eaten no supper your- 
self,” the girl objected. “ Let me make you a 
cup of tea and bring you a bit of sometliing nice 
in your room.” 

“Never mind about it, Elra,” Mabel answered 
wearily. “You are a good girl but I’m not 
hungry,” saying which she went slowly up to 
her chamber. 

Elra was not to be thus easily dissuaded how- 
ever, as the dainty repast she soon placed 
before her mistress showed; and Mabel, who 
could do no less than reward her kindness by 


40 


Their Children^'* 


tasting the delicacies, having conquered the 
aversion she felt at even the sight of food, dis- 
covered that to eat was the very thing she most 
needed. Her long ride, together with the ex- 
citement she had endured, made bodily refresh- 
ment imperative. 

Elra looked on well pleased, and when later 
she stole back to find Mabel sleeping quietly, 
she indulged in great self-laudation regarding 
her management. Nor was she mistaken in 
claiming much wisdom as well as kindness for 
her act. A young and healthy nature will 
assert itself, demanding both food and rest, even 
when, yea, even more when care and grief, so 
foreign to its native mood, are pressing heavily 
upon the spirit. 

Mabel was no exception. She slept dream^ 
lessly till daybreak, awaking so refreshed that 
for a moment she thought the shadows had all 
fled with the night. “ Oh, that they had ! ” she 
sighed, as the truth settled heavily down upon 
her. Then she rose, and dressed carefully, 
thinking to look her best for Charles’ sake. 
Afterward she wandered into Gretchen’s room, 
adjoining her own, where all things were so 


“ Their Children^ 


41 


fragrant with the memory of her sister, as she 
loved to call her. There in a crimson lined 
alcove, the better to display its pure white 
beauty, stood Lombard’s Temple on its ebony 
stand. But the Herr Professor and his Leipsic 
Mabel would hardly have been pleased to see it 
thus displayed. To them this “ Marble Preach- 
er ” had been what true preachers always are to ■ 
those who listen, a preacher of righteousness, 
not a mere art-work to be set off by studied 
contrast of color, and a favoring light. 

The alcove where they treasured it, was in 
their hearts, from whence it made its beauty 
seen in their daily lives. 

But as Mabel’s eye rested on it she thought 
only of her mother, forgetting how it had 
helped to mould her pure hfe. 

Her soul cry, with the tears falling unheeded 
over her face, was, “ Oh, if she were only here ! ” 
But the clear voice for which she longed was 
hushed to mortal ears, as were all those that had 
cheered and guided the “Leipsic Mabel,” all 
save One, and to that the daughter was still 
deaf. She did not ask, and so received not. 
She did not seek, and therefore did not find. 


42 


Their Children'' 


For want of knocking she remained outside that 
door which, being opened, admits to treasures 
compared with which the wealth of the whole 
world is poverty. Thus she turned away, heart 
heavy and uncomforted, to her solitary break- 
fast, afterward going the round of her morning 
duties with mechanical precision, all the time 
vainly straining her ear for the first sound of 
Charles^ homecoming. 




CHAPTER V. 

EAR sometimes adds wings to the heels, 
and sometimes nails them to the ground, 
and fetters them from moving. 

The latter had been true of Mabel 
thus far, for she remained at home, not dar- 
ing to stir for fear of doing harm. But when 
dinner time came, and passed away, bringing 
no tidings; when the sun began to cast long 
shadows, she could endure no longer, and 
hastily putting on her bonnet, she went out. 
Now it was that fear added the wings. She 
sped along, not heeding those she met, till 
she was suddenly arrested by hearing her 
name called, when looking up she found her- 
self face to face with Charles Franse. 

“Oh, where have you been?” she cried, 

43 



44 


“ Their Children.'^' 


then paused, arrested by the change that had 
fallen upon him since they parted. 

He seemed to have aged by many years, so 
altered were the lines of his face, so full of 
a proud sorrow, that seemed to hold itself 
aloof alike from complaint or sympathy. The 
wistful look that Mabel had so often noticed 
in his eyes, was exchanged for an expression 
of stern resolve, that had also settled about 
the mouth, rendering the usually mobile lips 
almost rigid in their severe expression. In 
short, his whole countenance had undergone 
such a transformation as made it seem like 
that of another man, but as he drew Mabel’s 
arm within his own, the old affectionate look 
came back into his face, and his voice was 
full of tenderness, as he said, — 

“ You have been lonely and anxious, Mabel, 
you were coming to find me ? ” 

“I have, indeed,” she answered, struggling 
to check the tears that choked her voice. 
“Tell me what is the matter. What has hap- 
pened?” 

“Let us go home first,” he said, walking 
on wearily, as if carrying a heavy load. 


“ Their Children.'^ 


45 


“Yes, home,” she acquiesced. And then 
tried to cheer the way by telling him of a 
letter from Gretchen, received that day, full 
of love and hope and happiness. 

At first he listened patiently, if nothing 
more, but when she spoke of Blakemere, and 
Gretchen’s still enthusiastic praise of him, he 
shrank as from the cruel probing of a wound. 
Then the look of fixed resolve came back into 
his face, completely silencing . Mabel for the 
rest of the way. 

“I am very weary,” he said, putting liis 
hat in its accustomed place upon* the rack. 
“I have neither eaten nor slept since I left 
you yesterday morning. I will go up to my 
room and try for a little rest.” 

“Not till you have had dinner, Charles,” 
Mabel said, decidedly. Then suddenly seiz- 
ing his hands, she cried, imploringly, “ Oh, do 
not keep me any longer in this agony of sus- 
pense. Tell me what has happened ! ” 

He made no answer, but drew her into the 
library, and closed the door. 

“Mabel,” he began, then faltered, as if 
unable to utter the words that rose to his lips. 


46 


Their Children,^'* 

“What is it, Charles?” she urged. “Be 
frank with me, your loving sister.” 

“Would that I could be!” he exclaimed, 
vehemently. “But I can confide in no one, 
not even you. All I can say is, there is trou- 
ble at the bank. To-day there has been a 
meeting of the President and Directors. I am 
no longer desired as casliier, and Philip Blake- 
mere is to be recalled. At my own request, 
I go at once to Germany, to explain matters 
and secure his immediate return. This is cold 
comfort, Mabel,” he went on, “but it is all 
I can give. Therefore, if you love me, ask 
no questions.” 

“And Werner?” Mabel ventured timidly. 

“ Pie was absent for some days in the coun- 
try,” Charles answered, speaking as if the 
bare mention of the name angered him. 
“ Yesterday he returned, and in the afternoon 
joined a horseback party, since which time he 
has not been seen.” 

“ And is this all you can tell me, Charles ? ” 
Mabel asked. “Am I to have no explana- 
tion? Is there to be no confidence between 
us?” 


Their Children^ 


47 


“Do not reproach me, Mabel,” Charles an- 
swered, gloomily. “As I said to you once 
before, I can make no one my confidant, not 
even you. Therefore, do not add to my bur- 
den by further importunity.” 

“ Oh, this is terrible ! ” exclaimed Mabel, 
burying hev face in her hands, as if to shut 
out the on-j reasonable solution of the mys- 
tery that presented itself, viz., wronging on 
the part of Franse. Her mind having been 
stretched on the rack of suspense for weary 
weeks, was illy prepared to endure further 
torture, yet there seemed no escape. Unlike 
her mother, she could not take refuge in the 
loving arms of him, who seeing the end from 
the beginning, is able to bring light out of 
darkness. She saw no bow of promise on 
the cloud. What wonder then she cried, 
“ How terrible ! ” 

Charles looked at her with a silent, hope- 
less anguish, pitiful to see, but made no effort 
to console her. Indeed, he was just then 
sorely in need of consolation himself. 

A gentle knock called him to the door, and 
upon its being opened, Elra handed him the 
card of Dr. Allison. 


48 


Their Children."*^ 


“He asked for Miss Mabel,” the girl said. 

“ Oh, I cannot see him ! ” she exclaimed. 
“Say I am engaged. Beg liim to excuse me.” 

“Wait a moment outside, Elra,” Charles in- 
terposed, and closing the door, he said, taking 
her hand, “ Mabel, I beg that if possible, 
you will see this gentleman, who I suppose 
has come merely for a call. I entreat you 
to appear as if nothing had happened. Of 
course a thousand rumors will be abroad re- 
garding the change at the bank, but the truth 
will probably never be guessed at, certainly 
never made public. Whatever Mr. Blakemere 
and the Directors think of me, they have 
promised to keep our transactions private. 
Try then, Mabel, to conceal your own dis- 
tress, which God knows I would gladly spare 
you.” 

“I see — it is best — I will try,” she said 
slowly, like one consenting to some painful 
operation. Then she rose up, and passed 
through the door he held open for her, but 
seeing Elra, paused to give some directions 
for Charles’ comfort. 

“Never mind, little coz, run along,” he 


“ Their Children,^’* 


19 


said, trying to speak in the old, playful tone. 
“Elra and I will arrange to suit ourselves.’^ 
Thus urged, the suffering girl went to her 
guest, doing her best to appear as usual, but 
utterly failing to blind the experienced eye 
of the physician to agitation. 

Meanwhile Elra set her most tempting dishes 
before her exhausted charge, and seeing him 
eat, said in her heart, — 

“I reckon it is not so bad after all,” mean- 
ing the trouble. ♦ 

Shakspeare says of sleep, “It seldom visits 
sorrow,” but adds, “ When it does it is a 
comfort.” 

Such indeed it proved to Charles after his 
long and harrowing watch, wrapping him in 
temporary unconsciousness of every ill. 

With Mabel it dealt less kindly, however, 
perhaps because there mingled with her dis- 
tress much wounded pride that Charles refused . 
to confide in her. She could imagine no justi- 
fication for such reserve with her who had 
always been to him like an elder sister. Bear- 
ing her trouble in her own strength, without 
one uplift of her aching heart to the only 


OO 


Their Children*'' 


perfect Comforter and Guide, what wonder 
that the pain made her unreasonable ! What 
wonder that pride and anger rode rough shod 
over a spirit so sorrow-sick as her’s! Rather 
wonder that she and every other helpless mor- 
tal • is not trampled beyond rising beneath the 
ills they heir with their first breath, unless 
they can escape to the only sure Fortress, 
which is God. 

They met at breakfast, Mabel and Charles, 
their real affection sadly overshadowed by cool 
reserve on the one side, and moodiness on the 
other. Their feeble attempts to speak on in- 
different matters were soon abandoned for 
complete silence. 

At last Charles said, abruptly, “I must leave 
to-night, Mabel. What friend can you ask to 
stay with you till” — he paused, as if unable 
to utter his sister’s name, then went on, forc- 
ing himself to say, firmly, “till Gretchen and 
Philip return?” 

“Oh, do not disturb yourself about me,” 
she answered, coldly. “I shall do very well. 
Let me know what I can do for you.” 

“As you please,” he replied, sadly, pained 


Their Children,^'* 


61 


by her manner. “ You will not be long 
alone.” 

Mabel always remembered that day as the 
most bitter she ever endured. Pride held Love 
chained hand and foot ; a gag wa^ in liis 
mouth, so that even at the last he could only 
utter an inarticulate cry, as the stricken man 
bade Mabel good bye and went away. Then 
suddenly grown strong through the agony of 
parting, he sprang to his feet with such a 
moan as made the poor girl weep scalding 
tears, longing to throw her arms about her 
brother’s neck with words of comfort, when, 
alas, it was too late. 




CHAPTER VI. 


OW strangely does the body remain • 
anchored in the familiar harbor of daily 
routine, when the mind, driven from its 
moorings is tossed on a wild sea of doubt 
and distress. 

So thought Mabel, busying herself with her 
every day affairs, alone in the cottage, while in 
sorrow and perplexity she reviewed again and 
again the strange events of the few past weeks, 
or followed the traveler on his solitary way. ’ 

Now it was that she yearned for her mother 
as in the first days of her bereavement. She 
spent hour after hour in looking over letters and 
other mementoes of the time when, like herself, 
her mother had been young. 

She could say with the poet, — 



“ Their Children'^ 


53 


“When all the midnight winds are still, 

And silence is a thing one hears, 

I make my lamp’s pale peaceful glow 
Light me among the buried years, 

“ Time wasted are the words I meet 
Along each yellowed page they fill. 

But all their cadences are sweet — 

Their perfume lingers still.” 

Searching thus one night, she took up a paper 
worn and tear blistered. Carefully unfolding it 
she read the Herr Professor’s letter to his 
Leipsic Mabel, with which the readers of ‘‘ The 
Marble Preacher ” are familiar. There were 
other records also in her mother’s handwriting, 
apparently of words he had spoken to her at 
various times, all connected with that exquisite 
temple in the crimson lined alcove of Gretchen’s 
chamber. 

Over one Mabel lingered long. It was a 
transcript of the counsel he gave his '•'‘daughter'^ 
when, in obedience to her mother’s stern com- 
mand, she was forced to leave him for her 
uncle’s house. The loving girl had carefully 
set down his words, that none of them might be 
lost to her, little dreaming what in after years 
would be their effect upon her own dear child. 


54 


Their OhildrenP 


But, saith the Preacher, “The words of the 
wise are as goads,” and such in this case they 
proved, stirring up the slumbering conscience to 
which they now seemed to apply themselves as 
if written for it alone. 

In all her previous life, Mabel had been sur- 
rounded by such an atmosphere of love and 
purity as apparently to forbid the growth of evil 
in her soul, yet while lacking nothing that 
makes perfection in the world’s judgment, she 
felt, sitting in the silence of her own chamber, 
with the earnest words of Herr Franse before 
her, that her heart was not right with God. 

Flitherto, she had gone little beloAv the sur- 
face in her soul questionings. Believing herself 
as good as most, indeed much better than some 
among her associates, she remained contented; 
but suddenly these words confronted her : “ Be 
ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which 
is in Heaven is perfect,” and her comfortable 
cloak of self-righteousness slipped from her 
shoulders, leaving her shivering and helpless at 
the entrance of that way upon which she had as 
yet taken not the first step. Across the very 
beginning stood this command ; “ Give me thine 
heart.” 


Their Children:^ 


55 


AVoiild she obey? Alas, no! At least, not 
then and there. In her own soul she was to 
find verified the teaching of the great Apostle 
who wrote, “ The carnal mind is enmity to 
God ; for it is not subject to the law of God.” 

Slowlj^ she folded up the papers and put them 
carefully away. Slowly she prepared for her 
nightly rest. She paused to do many trifling 
things about her room, setting this in order, lay- 
ing that away, and lingering over all to avoid 
the moment when in obedience to a lifelong 
habit implanted by her mother, she should read 
her Bible, and repeat her evening prayer. 
Until this night she had offered a vain oblation. 
Now she longed to fall upon her knees and cry, 
“ God be merciful to me a sinner,” but pride re- 
strained her, and for the first time in her recol- 
lection she went to rest, leaving her prayers 
unsaid. Yet was her present state better than 
her past ; for as in certain fevers the slightest 
pain is joyfully welcomed as a sign of improve- 
ment, so this omission was a token of awaking 
in Mabel’s soul. 

She was by nature proud, and strong of will, 
characteristics hardly called forth rebelliously in 


56 


“ Their Children. 


all her previous life, but now they rose in full 
strength against the simple submission that dis- 
tinguishes every child of God. 

Now followed wretched days for Mabel Flop- 
stock, days in which she sought no more 
comfort from the records of her mother’s past 
life, while yet those tear blistered papers were 
almost never absent from her mind. 

Elra wondered at the captious, irritable 
moods in which her young mistress, usually so 
calm and sunny, now indulged. 

The little world of Eau Claire, into which she 
threw herself with a feverish desire to escape 
her own thoughts, as well as to fulfill the wish 
expressed by Charles, that she would try to ap- 
pear unconcerned, began to notice the new 
element of sarcasm that had lately shown itself 
in her hitherto sprightly conversation. In short, 
a change had taken place in her, apparent to all, 
but for which none could satisfactorily account. 

Perhaps Dr. Allison divined more nearly than 
any other the true solution. He seemed to 
have a singular insight into character, reading it 
correctl}^ even upon slight acquaintance, the 
study of human nature being with him a 
passion. 


“ TJieir Children,'*^ 


57 


He was profoundly interested in Mabel from 
the first. Still they met but seldom, and then 
only in society, as he refrained from repeating 
his call at the cottage now that Mabel was so 
wholl}^ alone. 

To her there was that in him, whether calm- 
ness of manner, honesty of thought and expres- 
sion, sound sense,, or what she could not define, 
that always brought relief to her troubled soul. 
She often found herself wishing she could ask 
his advice regarding her heart sickness, as others 
did for their bodily infirmities. 

Thus musing, Mabel was alone in her sitting- 
room one day about three weeks after Charles’ 
departure. Her face was buried in her hands, 
while painful thought so absorbed her as to pre- 
vent her hearing the door behind her gently 
open, or seeing the pantomime that followed. 

In the hall outside stood a lady clad in trav- 
eling costume, noiselessly gesticulating to a 
little child to run forward into Mabel’s sight. 
With her finger on her lips to impose silence, 
she waved the other hand encouragingly as the 
baby, for she seemed little more, hung back 
afraid. At last seeing her mother, for such the 


58 


“27le^V Children.’’^ 


lady was, form her lips into the word 
naughty ! v/ith an ominous shake of the 
head, the little one slowly advanced to Mabel’s 
chair, and standing behind it, peered round into 
her face, with, — 

“ Don’t ’ou see Jennie ? ” 

With a sudden start Mabel looked up at the 
little figure beside her, clad in its thick wraps, a 
velvet cap on its head, from beneath which 
floated a mass of golden, v/avy hair. 

Her large, earnest eyes were fixed on Mabel’s 
face in wonder, her rosy lips were slightly 
parted, shov/ing the little milk white teeth, 
while her glowing cheeks made a striking con- 
trast to the wonderful whiteness of her skin. 

“Why, whose little girl are you?” Mabel 
asked, taking the tiny white mittened hand in 
her own. “ Arc you come to see me ? ” 

“I’s mamma’s itty girl,” replied the cliild, 
drawing away her hand. “Wc’s come to see 
auntie.” 

Just then Mabel heard a smothered laugh in 
the hall, and running to the door, she saw the 
roguish face of her only and long absent sister, 
Lottie Granger. 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


59 


“ O you darling thing, you ! ” cried the 
young mother, hugging and kissing Mabel, 
amidst laughter and tears. “ Just to think of 
your never getting my letter ! I knew how 
it was .the moment I reached the station and 
found no one there to meet me, so I be- 
thought myself to give you a pleasant sur- 
prise. But dear me 1 what was you thinking 
about not to hear us? Was you asleep, or only 
dreaming day dreams ? ” 

“Why, Lottie, what does it all mean?’’ 
Mabel said, almost too astonished and overjoyed 
for words. “Where is your husband? You 
surely have not come all this weary way alone, 
with that tot ? ” 

“Not I!” rejoined Lottie. “I never was 
made to do anything alone. Don’t you remem- 
ber how I always took those horrid seams 
mother dear used to make us sew, to the neigh- 
bors for company? You may be sure Edward 
knew me too well to send me off alone, and as 
he could not bring me, he was land enough to 
bestow mo with baby and the trunks upon an 
unfortunate friend of his who was coming tins 
way. I don’t believe the man will ever be his 
friend again ! ” 


60 


'‘'‘Their Children.'*" 


“Well, darling, don’t stand any longer here,” 
Mabel said, drawing her sister into the familiar 
sitting-room. “ You shall tell me all about 
everything presently, but first get off these 
wraps.” 

Meantime baby Jennie was slowly wandering 
from one object of interest to another, evidently 
investigating her new quarters with infantile 
curiosity. 

At last her peregrinations were brought to a 
summary end by an unlucky foot-stool over 
wliich she tumbled, her roly poly little body 
falling plump at Lottie’s feet. 

“Never mind, pet,” she cried, catching the 
child merrily in her arms, and stopping the ris- 
ing sobs with kisses. “ Let us get off these 
naughty leggings and things so Jennie can trip 
round like a fairy.” 

“ I dess I isn’t hurted muts,” she said, trying 
to be brave in the presence of her new auntie, 
who was busy in removing sacque, mittens, 
hat, &c. 

“ I dess papa Ned would ’mend his itty girl. 
Don’t ’ou mamma ? ” 

“Mend her? Why where is she broken?” 
asked Mabel, laughing. 


“ Their Children'^ 


61 


“ Oh, she meant praise her because she 
doesn’t cry,” Lottie explained. “ He said 
something once about commending her, and she 
caught the word, calling it ’mend for short.” 

Much amused, Mabel for a time devoted her- 
self to her little guest ; but in these first mo- 
ments of reunion the sisters could not long fore- 
go the delight of attending exclusively to each 
other. 

So baby Jennie, quickly divining that she and 
her small affairs had been displaced by the more 
mature interests of mamma and auntie, silently 
slid from Lottie’s lap and cuddled herself away 
on a low stool by the fire. 

So still was she that her little presence was 
forgotten until Lottie’s maternal ear caught the 
sound of a suppressed sob, and turning to look 
at the child she saw the big tears rolling over 
her chubby cheeks. 

“ Why darling, what is the matter ! ” she ex- 
claimed, kneeling beside the child, and putting 
her arms about her. 

At this the floodgates of childish grief were 
opened, and beginning to sob violently, she fal- 
tered forth, “ I wants my bed and mick in my 


62 


“ Their Children,'^ 


itty fite bowl, and my kitty and papa Ned, and 
all my sings. I hate aunties ! ” 

“Why, Jennie Granger! stop this minute,” 
cried poor Lottie, utterly horrified at such an 
exhibition before her sister Mabel, of whom it 
must be confessed she stood somewhat in awe. 
“ Do you kiss auntie this minute, and say you 
are sorry.” 

“Never mind now Lottie,” Mabel said. 
“We arc more to blame than she is. She has 
been neglected till she has grown lonely and 
homesick. When she sees my four little kittens 
that I am going to bring now, and my beautiful 
bowl of bread and milk, with all the rest of my 
nice things, she will love aunties.” 

Before the words were spoken baby Jennie 
ceased crying, and turned her head enough to 
enable one bright little eye to view the owner 
oifour kittens, and before long she was trotting 
along to inspect them hand in hand with her 
now charming auntie. 

Here we will leave them for a time, while we 
explain tliis unexpected arrival at the cottage. 



CHAPTER VII. 

was now nearly four years since Lot- 
tie Flopstock married Edward Granger, 
and went with him to the beautiful 
city of Madison, Wisconsin, where he 
had established himself as a lav/yer. He had 
risen rapidly in liis profession, and Lottie de- 
clared there was nothing left of him for her 
and the baby but a few crumbs of time 
morning and night, that only just saved them 
from starving. She said that one great rea- 
son for visiting Eau Claire was the hope that 
her husband’s letters would contain more words 
than he found time to speak to her when at 
home, all of which meant that he was very 
busy, and she was very proud of it; loving 
him all the better because of his success. 

Nevertheless she so longed for a sight of 

63 


64 


“ Their Children, 


Mabel and the dear old home, especially after 
the coming of baby Jennie, her young mother 
heart being eager to display this new treasure, 
that Granger finally consented to their com- 
ing east, promising to follow as soon as his 
business would allow, and take them home. 

As we have seen, her letter announcing this 
plan, failed to reach its destination, thus giv- 
ing her an opportunity for the surprise al- 
ready mentioned. 

In the present condition of things at the 
cottage, the advent of two such merry-makers 
as Lottie Granger and her little one, was most 
opportune, diverting Mabel’s thoughts into a 
more healthy channel. Her sister, always as 
frolicsome as a kitten, seemed to have lost 
nothing of her playfulness amid the cares of 
wife and motherhood; while baby Jennie, with 
her quaint ways and queer sayings, proved a 
constant source of delight and amusement to 
her auntie. 

Yet the shadows on Mabel’s spirits often 
made themselves apparent even to Lottie’s un- 
observant eyes, setting her wondering whence 
they came ; yet as she had a little store of 


Their UhildrenP 


65 


sense somewhere in her frolicsome pate, she 
asked no questions, only maldng herself and 
her baby as bewitching as possible whenever 
a chill began to steal into the domestic at- 
mosphere. 

klabel doubted if she found her husband’s 
letters as good a substitute for his presence as 
she professed to do. At least they were suffi- 
ciently long and frequent, calling forth such 
answers from his gay little wife as drew upon 
her much good-natured railery from her sister. 

One letter only had come from Charles, a 
short note announcing his safe arrival in New 
York, coupled with an intimation that he 
should not write again until he fixed upon 
some definite plan for the future. 

Frequent accounts came from Gretchen, de- 
scriptive of the rare pleasures she was daily 
enjoying, while all unknown to her, the twin 
brother she so loved, performed his solitary 
voyage across the ocean. 

If the previous weeks of excitement had 
in any measure hidden from him his true por 
sition, he had now full leisure to realize it- in 
all its bearings. 

5 


66 


Their Children,’*^ 


It is, however, no part of our present busi- 
ness to act as a spy upon his thoughts. Like 
his fellow passengers, we will respect his evi- 
dent desire to escape observation, and content 
ourselves with knowing that he is apparently 
a silent, reserved man, shunning companion- 
ship whenever possible, yet when compelled 
to accept it, showing liimself an intelligent 
and polished gentleman. 

The passage was a short one, and upon 
landing he took the first possible train to 
Switzerland, where at Lausanne he expected 
to find Gretchen and Philip Blakemere. 

Hurrying on with all speed, he arrived at 
midnight, and went at once to the hotel 
where he knew them to be* staying. But, 
though weary from his rapid journey, he felt 
no desire for rest, and paced his room till 
morning. Then, with the earliest sounds be- 
tokening movement in the house, he rang his 
bell for a waiter. 

“Can you tell me at what hour Mr. Blake- 
mere leaves his room?” he asked. 

“Not early, sir,” the man replied. “He is 
sometimes as late as nine, never before eight.” 


“ Their Children 


6T 


“Take this card,” said Franse, giving the 
man his name and the number of his room. 
“Hand it to him as soon as he comes down, 
and say I wish to speak with him here at 
once. Do not give it to him in presence of 
any one, especially his wife.” Then placing 
money in the servant’s hand, he added, “Do 
my bidding faithfully, and I will reward you.” 

“ Trust me, sir,” the man answered, and 
withdrew, now fully alive to the importance 
of the occasion. 

Charles looked at his watch. It was two 
hours before he could hope to see Blakemere. 
To wait here with nothing to do was beyond 
his endurance, and so taking his hat he went 
forth into the morning. 

The town of Lausanne, lying upon the 
slope of the Jura mountains, more than four 
thousand feet above the level of the sea, com- 
mands one of the most magnificent views to 
be found. For seventy miles up and down, 
the eye can roam over the bright waters of 
Lake Geneva, while beyond on the opposite 
shore rise mountains six thousand feet high. 
To-day they were wrapped about their base 


68 


“ Their Children.^'* 


Tvith a delicate mist, that rose from the lake 
like incense, and vailed, without hiding, their 
grandeur. 

As Charles paced up and down upon the 
shore, his self-absorption yielded somewhat to 
the beauty of the scene. 

Looking on the glorious landscape he could 
almost fancy no blight of sin or sorrow rested 
on this fair earth or any of her children. For 
a moment he was again free and happy as of 
old; but alas, only for a moment. He re- 
membered the stern errand that brought him 
to Lausanne, and retraced his steps to be 
ready for his appointment. 

Scarcely had he regained his room, when 
Blakemere entered, exclaiming, “ Why, Franse, 
my dear fellow, how are you? I was never 
so astonished in my •life. Come to our rooms. 
Gretchen will never forgive me if I keep you 
from her a moment.” 

“Does my sister know I am here?” asked 
Charles, in a cold, grave tone, that chilled the 
rush of Blakemere’s welcome. 

Withdrawing his hand, and letting his eyes 
fall to the floor, he answered, — 


Their Children*^ 


“I have this moment received your card.” 

“How long can you stay here without her 
missing you?” asked Charles. 

“ Oh, for an hour or so. I was just going 
out for a walk, while she writes home,” Philip 
answered, his handsome face becoming visibly 
pale and disturbed. 

“I am glad of this,” Charles returned. 
“Gretchen must not know of my being here, 
but I have much to say to you, Blakemere.” 

With these words he carefully closed the 
door, locking it on the inside. 

What passed within was known alone to 
the two; but when Blakemere came out, his 
whole countenance wore unmistakable signs 
of strong agitation. 

“For Gretchen’s sake,” Charles said, stand- 
ing on the threshold. 

“Yes, for Gretchen’s sake,” Philip answered. 
“Notliing else could tempt me to this.” 

“ Oh, if I could only see her ! ” Franse 
said aloud, turning back into the room, and 
commencing to replace the few articles he 
had taken from his vahse. “How can I go 
away without once hearing her dear voice, 


70 


Their Ohildren^'* 


or taking her in my arms. But, no, I must 
be strong for her sake. It would not do. 
She would suspect.” So with this resolve, 
he turned his face from Lausanne that very 
afternoon, to go, whither he hardly knew or 
cared. 




CHAPTER VIII. 

f RETCHEN \vrote a happy letter to 
Mabel, telling her of yesterday’s sail 
on the lake thirty-five miles away, to 
where lies the fair city of Genoa. 
Page after page she filled with glowing des- 
criptions, and closed with a gay message to 
“ The Twin,” as she laughingly called her 
brother, for whom, despite all her liappiness, 
she had many a secret longing. 

The letter accomplished, she discovered that 
it was long past the time when Philip was 
to have returned, and after waiting two more 
weary hours, she became first impatient, then 
anxious at his prolonged absence. When at 
last he came, she sprang toward him in alarm, 
at the change in liis countenance and demeanor. 
“Why, Philip, you are sick!” she cried. 

71 


72 


“ Tlieir Children'^ 


“ Oil, no, not in the least,” he replied, sit- 
tinsT down in the chair she drew toward him. 
“I have had a long ivalk, and am tired; be- 
side, I am vexed by some nnexpected news 
from home, which I fear will oblige us to re- 
turn directly.” 

“Philip, what is the matter?” she faltered, 
the color leaving her face. “Is Charles sick?” 

“No, only sick of his duties at the bank. 
He won’t attend to them any longer, and 
my uncle insists on my going back at once. 
Beside, he’s in a great hurry to set out for 
Germany. He is always ago^ about his sci- 
entific studies, you know; so there is noth- 
ing for it but to give up our plans and 
return forthwith.” 

Blakemere spoke rapidly, his restless eyes 
never meeting Gretchen’s, while liis hands, 
moving restlessly upon the chair arms, at last 
took refuge behind him, as if they dreaded 
being forced into contact with the delicate 
palms to which they had so lately been united. 

Though Gretchen remembered afterTvard 
how parrot-like her husband’s words sounded, 
she did not think of it now in the anxious 


Their Children,'^ 


73 


astonishment they aroused. Kneeling beside 
him, and lifting her magnificent, truthful eyes 
to his, she said, “This is not like Charles. 
Something is withheld from me, Philip.” 

“ Do you doubt me ? ” he said angrily, 
springing to his feet, and turning hastily away 
from her. “ There is a letter from your 
brother himself telling you all about it. Pos- 
sibly you will believe him.” He held the let- 
ter toward her, still keeping his head averted. 

Gretchen took it mechanically, and sitting 
down, began removing the envelope, as if 
scarcely conscious of what she was doing. 

For the first time her husband had spoken 
harshly to her. How she had offended him 
she did not know. Indeed, she scarcely knew 
anything save that there was a dreadful ache 
at her heart. Philip, looking at her, as her 
eyes followed the words without seeming to 
comprehend their meaning, saw no anger in 
her beautiful face, only the sad surprise there 
is in the face of a little child, when for the 
first time its dearest earthly treasure lies 
broken at its feet. Nothing will ever be quite 
the same to it again. It has learned the dire 


74 


“ Their ChildrenJ*'' 


possibility inherent in all things earthly, they 
may break. What though Blakemere takes 
his wife back to his heart with loving words, 
says ho spoke angrily because he could not 
bear she should be arrested in her pleasuring ; 
what though he sue for and receive full 
pardon, will he ever be to Gretchen quite 
the same again ? Can she ever forget the 
possibility just revealed to her, a possibility of 
which she never thought? We trow not. 
Alas, that Philip Blakemere has spoken his 
first unkind word to liis gentle wife ! 

Charles’ letter was an attempt at his old 
time playful way of writing to his pet sister, 
but after many perusals she knew only too 
well that the light-heartedness was feigned to 
hide — what? Ah, yes, how many times she 
tried to solve the question, that as often baf- 
fled her beyond probable conjecture. Yet with 
a’ firmness of purpose few would have dis- 
covered under the gentle dependence of her 
surface character, she determined to appear 
satisfied, and quietly bide her time. If she 
noticed the various signs of disquietude often 
but too evident in her husband, she gave no 


“ Their Children'^ 


75 


outward sign. She appeared well pleased 
with the sudden change in their plans, a sat- 
isfaction not all feigned, for she longed for 
the dear old home. Therefore she bade good 
bye to the bright waters of Lake Leman with 
sunny smiles, when on the third day from 
that when she had been unconsciously for 
hours under the same roof with her brother, 
they turned their faces toward their native land. 

We need not join them on their voyage, 
but . rather let us follow Charles Franse, as 
slowly, alone and on foot, he wanders along 
his uncertain way, caring little whither it may 
lead him. 

Gretchen would hardly have known the 
face that till lately had been to her the dear- 
est of any upon earth. There was such a 
blending of hopelessness and resolve in its 
expression, it seemed to have lived so many 
years since she had seen it, that she might 
well be pardoned for denying its twinship 
with herself. 

Thus drifting purposely upon the new cur- 
rent of life that had floated him a stranger 
into a strange land, Charles one day sought 


76 


“ Their Children. 


the refreshment of a rude stone seat, that 
stood by the road side mid-way between the 
crest and base of a mountain down which he 
was finding liis way into the valley below. 
The scene was desolate in the extreme. Above, 
a dull gray sky, from which the snow flakes, 
shivering in the keen wind, sought refuge 
upon the frozen earth. High above him on 
a rocky point stood the ruins of an ancient 
castle, while below in the valley nestled a 
little hamlet, beside the river Aar, that flowed 
on dark and chilly. 

To the wayfarer, foot-sore and weary from 
prolonged and unusual exertion, the village 
looked like a refuge. 

“I will rest here,” he said, half aloud. ‘‘I 
will rest, and try to lay some plan for the 
future.” Then rising, he made his way to the 
hamlet. Going along its one street, he looked 
in vain for an inn, until coming to the last 
cottage, he knocked at the door to inquire 
where he could find lodgings. A tidy young 
woman answered his summons, and when liis 
dilemma was made plain to her, she smilingly 
told him that he was already at the right 


Their Children^ 


77 


place, as, there being no inn, she and her 
husband entertained any travelers who came 
that way. 

A glance sufficed to show liim that here he 
would find at least a clean and cheerful lodg- 
ing ; so without hesitation he entered, and 
was soon enjoying the simple fare it afforded. 

Up to this time he had scarcely known what 
food passed his lips, or been conscious of the 
exertion he was forcing his body to undergo, 
but to-day the physical goaded beyond en- 
durance had asserted itself over the mental, 
and the spirit of Charles Franse was helplessly 
under control of his body. 

Had his constitution been less vigorous, se- 
vere sickness would have followed. As it 
was, he experienced only unutterable weari- 
ness, a lassitude not to be resisted, and that 
made hour after hour of perfect repose seem 
like the dearest luxury. 

He was indifferent alike to the past and the 
future, simply from inability to feel. Perhaps 
his most powerful sensation next to the enjoy- 
ment of rest, was a sort of mild wonder at 
the state of mind and body in which he 
found himself. 


78 


Their Children,’'^ 


Would it be always thus? Had the ex- 
citement of the last three months quite trans- 
formed him? Would he stay here, eating 
and sleeping, unable to care much of anything 
for the rest of his mortal life ? W ould he 
ever see Gretchen again? Was he utterly 
cut off from his former hfe, that blessed life 
in the dear old home ? 

Such and kindred thoughts wandered quietly 
through his brain, causing almost no emotion, 
until one day there came to the hamlet, and 
consequently to the cottage, a stranger on foot 
and alone as had Franse, but evidently not 
over weary either in mind or body. 

The new comer was a man, short of stature, 
broad-shouldered and muscular, with a face 
and head that could hardly escape notice even 
in a crowd. The massive forehead, keen but 
laughing eyes, straight nose, firm mouth, and 
vigorous chin, united with a clear, ruddy 
complexion, and dark, not over fine hair, 
plentifully sprinkled with silver threads, made 
a whole not easily forgotten when once seen. 
He gave his name as Henrich Humbert, say- 
ing he wished to remain some days, as he 


Their Children'^ 


79 ’ 


was searcliing upon the mountain for certain 
specimens connected with his studies as a 
naturalist. 

The travelers met first at supper, where 
Herr Humbert eyed his companion with evi- 
dent interest, though no words passed between 
them beyond a polite greeting. 

The meal over, Charles retired at once to 
his own room, while the German set himself 
to discover something about his fellow-lodger. 
There was little to be learned beyond his 
name, however, but that seemed to affect liim 
sensibly. 

“ Herr Charles Franse ! ” he cried, “ why 
that is a name I love. It belonged to one 
of the noblest men I ever knew. I must get 
acquainted with the boy.” 

Having formed this excellent determination, 
he betook himself to rest, and slept as those 
only do whose physical condition is wholly 
sound. 

When next morning the two met again at 
brcalffast, Charles was not well pleased that 
Herr Humbert should approach him with great 
cordiality, exclaiming, — 


80 


Their Children,'^ 


“A good morning to you, young man. I 
claim acquaintance on the score of your name, 
which is as familiar to mo as my own, and 
much dearer, seeing it belonged to a far bet- 
ter man. Are you at all related to Professor 
Franse, formerly of Leipsic University?” 

“I am his son, sir,” Charles replied, with 
that air of stately reserve, so like his mother, 
a bearing that generally froze all advances 
against which it was directed. On the pres- 
ent occas^n its effect was overborne by the 
added interest aroused in Herr Humbert by 
his words. 

“ His son ! ” he cried, seizing Charles by 
both hands, and shaking them violently. “Did 
he ever tell you about Henrich Humbert?” 

“The learned scientist?” exclaimed Charles, 
growing eager in his turn, and returning the 
hand-shakes with interest. “ Indeed he has 
many times. He used to say that of all his 
associates in the University, Herr Humbert — ” 
Here Franse hesitated, and colored violently. 

“I know, my boy,” the scholar said, a 
shadow coming into his face, with the sigh 
that came up from his very heart. “ The 


“ Their Children.'*' 


81 


good Herr loved me for my science, but not 
for my creed. He was always grieving that 
he could not open my eyes to what he called 
truth, but we did not see alike in these mat- 
ters. Yet I am bound to confess that he had 
the best of it if the correctness of our be- 
liefs is to be tested by their effects upon our 
lives. But enough of this. Tell me what 
brings you here, and whither you are going ? ” 

These direct and searching questions, though 
merely asked in a spirit of friendship, proved 
very embarrassing to our young friend. He 
colored painfully under the keen eyes that 
looked so directly into his, but after a mo- 
ment’s hesitation he answered with something 
of his previous hauteur, “ Matters of a pri- 
vate nature brought me here, but my future 
course is undetermined.” 

“Very well,” returned the German, good- 
humoredly, “I don’t wish to force your con- 
fidence, only remember Henrich Humbert 
stands ready to serve Charles Franse’s son 
in any waj’ possible.” 

The cordiality of this answer completely dis- 
armed the young man’s reserve, and brought 
6 


82 


‘‘ Their Children.'*^ 


tlie tears to his eyes. Seeing which, Herr 
Humbert hastened to preveift any reply by 
asking Charles to join him in his morning’s 
excursion on the mountain. Fearing that a 
refusal might seem ungracious, Franse roused 
what little energy he possessed, and the two 
went out together. 




CHAPTER IX. 

ERR HUMBERT, enthusiastic in re- 
gard of his studies, saw with delight 
that in young Franse he had found 
a kindred spirit ; for Charles’ dehght 
in scientific pursuits, suspended by recent 
events, now returned in full force, under the 
influence of this master mind. He forgot to 
be weary; he was no longer sad while lis- 
tening eagerly to the opinions, and discussing 
the topics called forth by the progress of their 
search upon the mountain. 

Occasionally he was reminded by some casual 
remark of his father’s regret at Herr Hum- 
bert’s free thinking on matters of Christian 
faith; yet they quickly dropped out of mind, 

83 



84 


Their Children,'^ 


and were forgotten in the pleasure of their 
scientific sympathy. 

“Well, boy, it is high noon,” the German 
said, coming to the rude seat where Charles 
had rested on his first descent into the valley. 
“I have led you a pretty way for a sick 
man. Sit down here and rest while I pre- 
pare you a draught of this excellent ale. I 
declare ! ” he ejaculated, opening the dinner 
basket, “our tidy hostess knoAvs how to re- 
pair the waste made in our bodily machinery 
by this search after knoAvledge, as well as 
though she had studied the subject all her life.” 

“I have found her singularly kind and at- 
tentive,” Charles replied. “Her only trouble 
has been that I would not allow all the cod- 
dling she wanted to give.” 

“My style of coddling seems to have done 
you more good than hers,” laughed the Ger- 
man, “and I believe a little more of the same 
would effect a complete cure. What say you 
to accompanying me to Leipsic, as a sort of 
secretary or assistant, or Avhatever you choose 
to call it? I am always collecting specimens 
of various sorts, but have no time for ar- 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


85 


ranging them. I have longed for some one 
to help me, but I never before saw the man 
I would trust. If I am not mistaken, you 
are just the man I want. With you my 
treasures yvill be safe, for you will fully ap- 
preciate their value. Think of my proposi- 
tion, and let me know your decision presently.” 

Though Herr Humbert had at first spoken 
jestingly, he ended in earnest, and Charles 
suddenly found a definite purpose in life con- 
fronting him, when but now he seemed drift- 
ing as helplessly as a leaf upon the river’s 
breast. Though pleased at the confidence so 
readily reposed in him, he weU knew it was* 
mainly due to the name he bore. Still he 
felt certain of proving his personal right to 
it ; and his heart bounded with something 
quite like its old delight, at thought of the 
rare advantages afforded him for the pursuit 
of his favorite studies. 

Herr Humbert was not slow to perceive the 
pleasure his plan aroused; therefore he was 
prepared for the answer that followed. 

“ But one consideration makes me hesitate 
to accept your offer, my dear sir, which is 


Their Children,'^ 


that I may disappoint your expectations. As 
for myself, the advantages tl\us held out are 
as tempting as they are unexpected.” 

“Very well, then, we will consider the 
thing arranged,” replied the scholar, evidently 
well pleased. “I shall soon let you know 
if you don’t suit me. I can’t spend my time 
keeping guard over my feelings, and they 
speedily find their way out. I want you to 
be equally honest with me, so put no con- 
straint on yourself if j^ou don’t find things to 
suit. From this moment, however, until fur- 
ther notice from one side or the other, I shall 
consider you my private secretary, your salary 
to begin to-day. The amount shall be fixed 
when we reach home.” 

“You are kind, sir,” Franse said a little 
stiffly, not liking this off-hand way of arrang- 
ing the matter. “You are very considerate, 
but I can receive no compensation at least 
until I learn my duties. I doubt not my 
time and labor will be sufficiently rewarded 
by the privilege of studying your collections.” 

“Nonsense, boy,” the other returned im- 
patiently, “sorting my specimens may help 


“ Their Children,'^ 


87 


feed your mind, but not your body. I intend 
to give you a place under my roof and at 
my table, provided you are suited, but I am 
no brigand to rob a man of his time. No, 
Franse^ I shall be only too glad to pay well 
for such help as I am certain you can give 
me. So now no more about it. Do you see 
that castle above us? It has a curious legend 
attached to it, which, if you like, I will give 
you in brief while we rest and refresh our- 
selves.” 

“ I shall listen most gladly,” Charles re- 
plied. “I have passed many hours gazing at 
its ruins in a sort of mild wonder as to its 
history. Our hostess was one day about to 
give it to me, but only got as far as to say, 
‘It is the grand old Castle Alteii Aar,’ when 
she was called away, and the subject has 
never since been resumed.” 

“So much the better for me,” rejoined the 
student, laughing. “I arg fond of telling 
stories, so behold the Castle of Alten Aar, and 
prepare to listen to my tale. But I forgot, 
I>oy? you will be cold up here on the moun- 
tain side.” 


88 


Their Children,'^' 


““Not I,” Franse said, merrily. “I am 
warmly clad, while the sun shines with quite 
a spring like heat. Pray begin, for my cu- 
riosity is fast rising, as to what story clings 
around those walls which from this distance 
indicate a high degree of feudal magnificence.” 

“It was no doubt a grand place in ‘ye 
olden time,’” responded the German. “Tra- 
dition makes it out remarkable both for 
strength and beauty. It was the home, so 
runs the tale, of a powerful family of lords 
and ladies, having been for many generations 
in their possession, but since the sad and 
tragic fate of Kurt, the last of his line, it 
has been left alone in its ruin and solitude. 
Kurt of Alten Aar, was the fearless defender 
of right, the denouncer of wrong, no matter 
against whomsoever his principles led him. 
He feared neither Church nor State, thus 
bringing upon him the enmity of both, be- 
cause against the* wickedness of both hi^ de- 
nunciations were hurled. 

“ Thus he lived a stern warrior life, cheered 
only by his two lovely daughters, toward whom 
he was as gentle as toward wrong doers he 


“ Their Children'^ 


89 


was fierce. Rowena, the eldest born, stately 
in her proud pale beauty of dazzling skin, 
raven hair, and eyes like night, loved the 
brave knight, her father, with a devotion none 
the less strong because it was silent. 

“Ethelroin, the younger, lovely as a June 
rose, graceful as a fawn, nestled close in her 
father’s heart, and there sang her happy 
joundelays like a summer bird. What wonder 
then that Kurt of Alten Aar doted on his 
fair daughters, guarding them with jealous care. 

^‘At last he received in one day two letters 
from powerful neighboring nobles, demanding 
them in marriage. 

“ ‘ Alas, alas I ’ he cried, ‘ I can never yield 
up my - darlings to these rude and ruthless 
men. And yet it is not for me to compel 
their presence in this lonely castle. It is but 
right to leave the decision with them.’ 

“Tremblingly he laid the offers before the 
maidens, bidding each decide freely as hel: 
heart directed. 

“Rowena indignantly cast the missive aside, 
exclaiming, ‘Shall the daughter of the Count 
of Alten Aar mate with a robber?* 


90 


Their Children 


“Then his eyes rested full of pride and 
affection on his eldest born, but turned half 
fearfully toward Ethelroin. 

“ She threw herself upon his neck, and 
nestled her golden head upon his shoulder. 
‘Father,’ she whispered, ‘here is my home, 
let no one take me hence.’ 

“Then was the heart of Kurt glad, though 
he well knew the deadly feud in Avhich this 
refusal would involve him. ‘Better to die in 
my castle,’ he cried, ‘than see my children 
wed with the oppressors of their kind. Rob- 
bers, as thou, Rowena, hast justly called them.’ 

“Then tearing the letters in fragments, he 
delivered them to the messengers, bidding 
them return with all speed to their masters. 

“No time was lost in making ready the 
castle for defense, but hardly was it rendered 
impregnable before it was surrounded. The 
brave Kurt gave free permission for any who 
chose to leave him, but all with one voice de- 
clared their determination to abide the result 
with their beloved master. 

“ The besiegers, well knowing how futile 
would be any attempt to subdue this strong- 


“ Their Children,-^ 


91 


hold by assault, decided to bide their time 
until famine should do its work upon the gar- 
rison. 

“ Thus weeks passed. No relief came, and 
Kurt saw himself, his followers, and above all 
his fair daughters, fast approaching the ex- 
tremity so patiently a^t^aited by their enemies. 
Once more he urged his vassals to go forth, 
and again they refused. Then a sally was 
attempted, but without success, so they de- 
termined to die rather than surrender, and 
endure the cruel fate they knew awaited them 
at the hands of their foes. 

“ One by one they dropped away. Fever 
added its horrors to their distress, while Avith 
almost supernatural strength the sisters nursed 
the sick, and ministered comfort to the dying. 
Even when reduced to mere phantoms of their 
former selves, they flitted from one sufferer 
to another, carrying blessing everwhere. To 
the last, they had ever a smile for Kurt, their 
father, until they one day sank at his feet, 
never more to rise. Then Avas he left alone, 
the only living being Avithin his castle Avails. 

“ ‘ Now Avill I be free ! ’ he cried. ‘ Even 
famine shall no longer bind me.’ 


92 


Their Children.'*^ 


“Covering his wasted form with his richest 
suit of armor, he descended to his stables, 
there finding his favorite horse, who neighed 
a welcome at sight of his beloved master, 
yhom he had so often borne in battle and in 
th« chase. Tliis time he was to bear him be- 
yoml the reach of all earthly enemies. 

“ founting, the knight spurred his charger 
to the\ summit of his loftiest turret. His 
glittering, armor flashed back the rays of an 
early morhing sun.. His white hair floated 
in the light ^breeze that lifted the plumes of 
his helmet, as Ve gazed down in stern defiance 
upon the warriors who watched him as if 
spell-bound. 

“ Every ear was strained to catch his words, 
as by a commanding waive of his hand he 
compelled their audience. 

“ ‘ Behold,’ he said, ‘ the last of man or 
beast that lives within these walls. Y.our 
allies, hunger and disease, have played you 
false, and have delivered us out of your 
cruel hands. I alone remain; but I too will 
be free ! ’ 

“Then he spurred his milk white charger 


“ Their Children J*' 


93 


to the edge of the battlement. The noble 
animal affrighted, reared, but seeming sud- 
denly to comprehend the will of him he had 
so long obeyed, he sprang forward and gave 
a leap into the air. 

“ Horror-stricken the besiegers gazed, as from 
rock to rock the steed and his rider bounded, 
until the waters of the Aar received and closed 
over Kurt, the last of his race. 

“Silently from, around the castle the awe- 
stricken warriors turned away, nor dared to 
invade the silence of those death-strewn halls. 
Never has mortal ventured within the walls 
since that sad day, so runs the tale.” 

“A brave legend, and bravely told,” Franse 
said, when the German ended. “I shall write 
it out for the benefit of two fair ladies I left 
behind me in America.” 

“Would they be as true in their allegiance 
to anybody, think you, as were the knight’s 
daughters to him?” questioned Herr Humbert. 

“I believe them capable of it,” Charles re- 
joined, “but they will hardly be tested. We 
live in more quiet times.” 

“True,” rejoined Herr Humbert, “but none 


94 


“ Their Children,''^ 


the less tr3dng for all that. Men and women 
now-a-days often get shut up in castles, so 
to speak, where for love of somebody not 
half so noble as our knight, they starve and 
sicken, until, besieged by inexorable circum- 
stances, they waste away and die. I’ve seen 
it many a time, and so will you if you live 
long enough.” 

Franse made no answer, but remained grave 
and preoccupied on his way back to the cot- 
tage, which they were to leave on the next 
day. 




CHAPTER X. 

« T was well for the purse of our young 
traveler that he had met and pleased the 
friendly German, for when h^s reckon- 
ing at the cottage was paid h<^ bad barely 
sufficient money left to carry him to Leipsic. 

Possibly Herr Humbert guessed as much, for 
before setting out for home he insisted on giving 
bis new secretary a quarter’s advance on his sal- 
ary, which he had over night settled in his own 
mind at^ a figure far above anything he could 
prevail on Franse to accept. 

“Never mind, I can raise it,” he muttered in 
a dissatisfied undertone. “ I can raise it when 
this squeamish boy finds how useful he can be 
to me.” So he said no more, but devoted him- 

95 


96 


“ Their (Jhildren^ 


self to the entertainment of his new protege as 
they journeyed toward Leipsic; 

So perfect was his acquaintance with the 
many points^of interest along the way, so great 
were his acquirements outside the direct line of 
his favorite studies, that Charles felt his wonder 
and admiration increasing every day. He came 
to regard the student as a walking encyclopedia 
of useful knowledge, .and his mind so long ab- 
sorbed in its private carea, revived in this new 
and most congenial atmosphere, as does the en- 
feebled body in the pure air and sunshine of 
heaven. 

Arrived at the ex-Professor’s house (for he 
had years before resigned his position in the 
University), Charles found himself a little dis- 
concerted at the striking contrast it presented to 
his own home. 

No second glance was needed to show him 
that the sweet ministry of woman was w.anting ; 
indeed must always have been wanting in this 
domicile, else its internal arrangements could 
never have become the ^^is-arrangements they 
now were. 

From the street one entered almost without 


ildren'^ 


97 


extending through the lioiis^e, 
oon a small paved eourt in the 

On one side the hall was the Professor’s 
study, with his sleeping-room behind it. On 
the opposite side was a library, with another 
bed-room attaehed, which Charles was directed 
to appropriate to his own use. 

The days were at the shortest, the eold was 
stinging, and ' twilight beginning to fall, but 
none of these things disturbed Herr Humbert’s 
serenity, as he bestirred himself to build a fire 
in his far from polished stove. 

MeanAvhile the young stranger, half amused, 
half vexed at the discomfort about him, with 
visions of the warmth and goo*d cheer to be 
found at some not far distant inn, stood viewiqg 
the chaos of things both rare and curious in the 
eyes of science, out of which he was expected to 
bring order. Shelves, tables, chairs, floor, were 
packed and strewn, layer upon layer, pile upon 
pile, that left no space for the accommodation of 
the human species, at least so far as revealed it- 
self to an eye unused to the confusion. 

The dim light struggling through the dingy 

7 


98 


“ Their Children,^'* 


window-panes at first failed to show a little 
clearing at the far end of the room, where stood 
a chair and writing table comparatively empty, 
leading to which from the door where Charles 
remained was a narrow path just broad enough 
for a man to walk in. Around the stove, that 
already sent forth the genial heat and crackle of 
a hickory fire, was another oasis with a similar 
path leading into the grand highway already 
mentioned; but from his present standpoint 
Franse could not discover it, and as he turned 
toward the opposite room he wondered by what 
legerdemain his host had surmounted the 
barriers that seemed to interpose between him- 
self and his heating apparatus. 

If the one room was cumbered with speci- 
mens, the other was equally so with books, the 
floor in some places being heaped with them 
nearly to the ceiling. Whether, were they 
carefully arranged they would overflow the 
cases that lined the walls, and where now the 
king of confusion reigned right royally, was 
hardly to be determined at a glance ; but 
stumbling on toward his own apartment the 
new comer was relieved to And it, though 


“ Their Children,'^'* 


99 


plainly furnished, neat and in order. He could 
therefore give an affirmative answer to his host’s 
“Will it do?” as he paused a moment in the 
doorway before lighting another fire in the 
library stove, which was so hidden behind a 
rampart of printed science, as to have entirely 
escaped the young man’s notice. 

Things began to look more hopeful in the 
pleasant warmth that soon spread itself through 
the rooms ; but external heat, though grateful, 
requires the aid of those internal fires that in 
the case of our two travelers needed to be fed 
by a hearty suppe**. But where was it coming 
from, was Charles’ unspoken thought, to which 
came a speedy answer from Herr Humbert, 
who said, “Now for Frau Herman and her 
dainties.” 

Drawing Franse’s arm within his he led him 
into the hall, and to a door opening at the 
farther end into an extension that bounded the 
little court already mentioned, on one side. 

The room they entered, though small, was 
cosily furnished and exquisitely neat. A bright 
fire danced merrily on the hearth, seemingly 
intent on rivaling with its ruddy glow the calm 


100 


Their Children,^-^ 

shining of a tall bronze lamp, that through its 
semi-transparent shade dispensed a mellow, sil- 
very light over the little table where it stood. 

Here were the dainties, but Frau Herman 
was not to be seen. 

Our friends cared little for this, however, 
being eager to satisfy their hunger, and for a 
time few words passed between them. At last, 
Charles found time to say, “Truly Frau Her- 
man must be a born cook as we say in America. 
This supper is as excellent as it was unex- 
pected.” 

. “Poor boy! did he think he would be sent 
supperless to bed? ” queried the German, laugh- 
ing. 

“ Hardly that,” returned Franse, “ but I must 
confess I was at a loss to guess where it was 
coming from.” 

“Why, my dear fellow, I ordered this meal 
before I left home, six weeks ago. To be sure 
I did not then knoAv you were coming back 
with me, but that happy event only made the 
difference of another knife and plate, which, as 
soon as the matter was decided I wrote to have 
laid for you.” 


“ Their Children,' 


101 


“ How could you be sure of the exact time of 
your return ? ” Charles asked in some surprise. 

“ I made my plans for it,” his host replied. 
‘‘ Order and punctuality are my watchwords, es- 
pecially the first,” he added with a quizzical 
twinkle in his eye, seeing the amusement his 
guest failed to hide. 

“Never you mind,” he continued, “time and 
capacity only have been wanting to carry out 
my plans for the arrangement and classification 
of my collections. In Charles Franse I have se- 
cured both.” 

“ Does Frau Herman never interest herself in 
the care of your rooms? ” Charles asked. 

“Interest herself!” echoed the German. 
“ Indeed she does, or rather did until I threat- 
ened to throw every stone at her woman^s head 
if she ventured to cross the threshold. Deliver 
me from the clearing up and setting to rights 
of a woman with a brush, pan, and duster! 
Why, boy, my choicest treasures would in her 
eyes be no better than rubbish fit only for the 
scavenger.” 

“You surely allow her to take care of your 
bed-room?” Charles asked, much diverted by the 


102 


'‘'‘Their Children^ 


intense disgust expressed in Herr Humbert’s 
face. 

“Not I!” he returned, contemptuously. 
“What beast that roams the forest but can 
make his own bed ! and am I more helpless than 
they ? ” 

“ But do we not bed our horses, and care in 
various ways for the comfort of the animals 
about us ? ” urged Charles. 

“ Granted,” replied the student, his keen eyes 
all aglow, “ but they are enervated and enslaved 
by domestic life. An animal dependent on man . 
is no animal, but a crouching, fawning syco- 
phant, to be kicked or beaten at his master’s 
pleasure.” 

Franse listened surprised at the half cynical 
tone in which Herr Humbert spoke, a tone so 
foreign to anything he had before noticed in 
him. He, however, laughingly declared his 
readiness to adopt the custom of the house, and 
become self reliant to the extent of making his 
own bed, though but for politeness’ sake he 
would have suggested that consistency required 
them to dispense with the services of a cook as 
well as those of a chambermaid. 


Their Children, 


103 


Just now he cared less who should make his 
bed than when he should be allowed to get into 
it; and Herr Humbert seeing his fatigue, sent 
him at once to the enjoyment of the rest he so 
greatly needed. 

He slept late, waking to find the sun shining 
brightly and all the city up and doing. Losing 
no time before imitating their example, he was 
soon ready to join the ex-Professor, whom he 
found busy at his writing desk, where he 
always occupied himself from five o'clock till 
nine, summer and winter. 

He welcomed Charles cordially, but yet there 
was wanting much of that genial vivacity which 
had so distinguished him hitherto. 

“ You are just in time for breakfast,” he said, 
rising with a half sigh from the book in which 
he had been absorbed. 

“ I supposed the breakfast hour long passed,” 
rejoined Charles, “ and felt quite ashamed of my 
tardiness.” 

“ Make yourself easy,” his host replied, lead- . 
ing the way to the room where they had 
supped. “ I never waste the precious hours of 
early morning by attention to my appetite. If 


104 


Their Children,'*^ 


you are ready by nine it will be in ample sea- 
son for me.” 

The meal was eaten in almost unbroken 
silence, Herr Humbert being apparently un- 
able to free himself from the lit of abstrac- 
tion which had so suddenly seized him. His 
companion was not sorry to be left to his own 
thoughts, which sprang with a quick rebound 
to Eau Claire, and the happy life he had led 
before the shadows came. 

As yet he had written no word home since 
he left, save the one note to Mabel. Indeed, 
what had he to communicate cither of com- 
fort or hope, up to the time Herr Humbert 
found liim at the Swiss cottage. Now his 
future was settled at least for a time. He 
would at once write Gretchen, and give her 
news of her twin brother in the city their 
father so loved, and where he was still re- 
membered with reverent affection. 

From this reverie he was aroused by Herr 
Humbert, who said, upon rising to leave the 
table, “ I must be absent nearly all clay, 
Franse. I am sorry to leave you alone, but 
possibly you will enjoy looking about the city, 


“ Their Children?'* 


105 


and hunting up some of your father’s old 
friends. I can direct you to a score or more 
who would delighfc to welcome you.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” Charles replied. “I do 
not care to go out to-day. I am anxious to 
begin at once on the work I have to do, un- 
less perhaps you wish to superintend the classi- 
fication of your collection.” 

“By no means,” replied the student. “That 
is just what I prefer not to do. Because I 
saw in you a man who could relieve me of 
all that, doing it better than I could do it 
myself, I did mj’- best to secure you. Make 
what disposition you please of the contents 
of those rooms, and if anything is needed for 
your assistance, it shall be provided.” 

“ I Avill do my best to merit your confi- 
dence,” Charles answered, “but you must 
criticise freely.” 

“To bo sure, to be sure,” was the answer, 
and Herr Humbert was out of the house and 
away, before Charles realized that he had left 
the room. 

Thus deserted, his first care was to write 
the contemplated letter to his sister, a task 


-106 


“ Their Children,^'* 


demanding more time and effort than he ex- 
pected. It was by no means easy to write 
with his former unreserved affection, when 
almost every sentence must be made to con- 
ceal far more than it expressed. 

He rose from the ordeal, weary and heart- 
sick, but resolved not to yield to despondency, 
he dispatched the letter, and began at once 
a vigorous examination of the chaos of sci- 
entific treasure committed to his charge. 




CHAPTER XI. 

EAVING Charles thus worthily en- 
gaged, we will take charge of his 
letter to Gretchen, and guarding it 
carefully on its voyage, place it in her 
hand, as she sits in her pleasant chamber at 
Eau Claire. 

Her lap is full of letters, and her eyes are 
full of tears. Yes, she is trying to still her 
hunger for news of her twin brother by giv- 
ing it the scanty nutriment to be drawn from 
this exhausted store written her by him in 
days gone by. As she sprang up gladly to 
receive the new, the old letters fell to the 
floor. She pressed the fresh one to her lips, 
and tearing away the envelope, glanced rapidly 
over the contents. 

Then she sat down and began again, this 

107 



108 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


time scanning each sentence carefully, until 
reaching the end she sighed heavily, saying, 
“ Dear, dear Charley ! what is it he is hid- 
ing from me?” 

A gentle knock at the door preceded Mabel’s 
entrance. “ Good news, I trust, Gretchen,’ 
she said. “I heard a letter had come from 
Charles, and I could not wait to know’ where 
and how he is.” 

Gretchen held out the letter, saying, ‘‘Read 
for yourself, Mabel, and tell me what you 
think.” 

Mabel gladly obeyed, while Gretchen eagerly 
watched her face wdiile her eyes ran rapidly 
along the lines. 

When she finished, she looked up with a 
bright smile, saying, “ What a needless worry 
we have had, Gretchen. Another time, we 
will remember the old adage about ‘no news 
being good news.’ He seems to have at last 
reached the height of his ambition, association 
with science in its highest and most approved 
forms. We two lumps of feminine clay stand 
no chance beside that mass of scholar^ mat- 
ter over which he is to rule supreme.” 


“ Their ChildrenJ*^ 


109 


Gretchen stooped to gather the letters at 
her feet, saying, as she did so, “Possibly you 
are right, Mabel, but to me there is — ” 

Just here a little voice at the door said, 
“ I’s tomin,” and without further announce- 
ment, in walked baby Jennie. Two years 
and a little more of contact with this sub- 
lunary sphere, had bestowed on this young 
lady the chubby proportions in which she now 
appeared, but she had evidently had the ar- 
rangement of her present costume, which was 
singulaf to a degree. 

The foundation of her apparel was evidently 
the dainty night-gown in which she had taken 
her mid-day nap. Possibly the blue socks 
had also accompanied her to dreamland, and 
on the way become damaged to the extent 
of letting one little toe appear uncovered on 
the present scene. Perhaps she there received 
the pattern which on waking, her baby hands 
had tried to carry out. Be that as it may, 
there rested on her golden curls one of those 
indescribable inventions of millinery art that 
are supposed to grace the heads of maid and 
matron, in this particular instance belonging 
to Miss Jennie’s mamma. 


110 


“ Their Children,'^ 


Its beauty was at present enhanced by re- 
versing the ordinary position of back and 
front, thus bringing the long white plumes 
directly over the bright, resolute eyes of the 
little wearer, through which they shone with 
calm seriousness, as if fully adequate to the 
importance of the occasion. A heavy man- 
tilla trailed from the baby shoulders far be- 
hind upon the floor, being partially held in 
place by the little hand that grasped it firmly 
round the throat, while the other hid itself 
in a muff, that partly concealed a blue silk 
overskirt, which adorned the front as the man- 
tilla did the back of this lilliputian lady. 

“ I’s tome to tall,” she repeated, in answer 
to the mirth her appearance excited. Then 
hearing her name called from behind, she sped 
as fast as her draperies permitted to the far 
side of a center table, bringing herself into 
position just as Mrs. Granger appeared at the 
door. 

‘‘I doesn’t sink it’s ’lite to make me wun 
so w’en I’se tallen ! ” she remarked gravely, 
with a nod that brought her hat quite over 
her eyes. Involuntarily she loosened her hold 


“ Their Children^ 


111 


upon tlie mantilla, which fell to the floor. 
The overskirt followed suit, when dropping 
the muff, both little hands seized the hat and 
tumbled it forward upon the table. 

“I’s takin off my sings. I’s tome to ’tay,” 
she explained with imperturbable gravity, ut- 
terly unruffled by this unexpected turn of 
affairs. “ I dess I mus’ sit down, tause I’s 
vely tired, tause I’s tome in ’e ocen in my 
barce tub all the way form ’Zan.” Whereupon 
she climbed upon a large easy chair, and laid 
herself back as if much exhausted. 

“ Why, what a long voyage to make in a 
bath tub ! ” Mabel said, trying to speak so- 
berly. “ All the way from Lausanne, too ! 
I declare ! But we are very glad to see you. 
Miss Granges, and I hope you had a pleas- 
ant voyage.” 

“ Bitty pesent,” replied the small visitor. 
“I dess it’s most dinner time, tause I’s mos’ 
’tarve.” 

“If you will come with me. Miss Jennie, 
you shall have dinner served at once,” said 
mamma*. “ I suppose you wish to change 
your traveling costume before you eat, and 


112 


Their Children^ 


therefore I will carry you up stairs.” Saying 
which, she stooped to raise the wee traveler 
in her arms. She, however, resented the in- 
dignity, declaring that “ladies’ mamma’s didn’t 
tarry ’em wen ’ey went tailing.” 

She, however, allowed herself to be led 
away, promising to call again soon. 

Mabel also was summoned elsewhere, and 
Gretchen was again alone. 

How she blessed the unconscious baby that 
had prevented her yielding to a momentary 
impulse to open her heart to Mabel concern- 
ing her anxiety about Charles. As yet she 
had never betrayed her consciousness of their 
unexplained trouble, that like an east wind 
seemed to have set all the domestic harmonies 
in a jangle. Sorely as she was often tried 
by doubt and anxiety, she had firmly ad- 
hered to her resolve of patiently waiting in 
silence for a solution of the mystery. Any 
other course seemed false to the unbounded 
confidence hitherto existing between Charles 
and herself. Did she not well know some 
all-sufficient reason must exist to cause a 
withdrawal of it in the present case ? Should 


“ Their Children, 


113 


slie not trust him still? But to-day her crav- 
ing for a possible knowledge Mabel might 
possess, had well nigh overborne her resolve. 
Only baby Jennie had saved her from yielding. 

She laid away the old letters, that had only 
saddened her by forcing upon her the happy 
past, in so strong contrast with the present ; 
then with the new one close at hand, she opened 
her Bible and read, now and then pausing to 
write on the open page of a blank book that had 
already occupied her many hours since her rcr- 
turn from abroad. 

While in seeming Gretchen exhaled holiness 
as does the lily its fragrance, without voluntary 
effort, she was in reality ever busy strengthen- 
ing and purifying the secret springs of her out- 
ward life, feeding them with the dew and 
sunshine of God’s holy word and many a 
fervent prayer, as the hidden lily root is 
nourished by the dew and sunshine of heaven; 

Day by day she nov^ fortified her harrassed 
soul with the sweet promises of sympathy and 
love that lie so thick along the sacred pages, and 
when one came to her with unusual power she 
wrote it out, because so doing seemed to make 
8 


114 


“ Their Children.’*^ 


it more her own. Thus throwing herself into 
the arms of Almighty compassion she could en- 
dure, obey, aye, be at peace in the midst of- 
doubt, perplexity and trial. 

Even when Blakemere coming in threw him- 
self irritably upon the sofa, exclaiming, “I 
declare, Gretchen, you are enough to drive one 
mad. Here I just met that prig of an Allison 
on the street, and what must he do but stop me 
with, ‘ Good morning, sir. I hope Mrs. Blake- 
mere did not get too tired yesterday with her 
long walk? Those poor people will never 
forget her kindness in coming,’ and there I 
stood as ignorant of what the old ass meant, as 
if he had not been speaking of my own wife. I 
took it for granted he had in mind another of 
your secret missions to some den of iniquity or 
other.” 

Even then, there was only loving gentleness 
in her tone as she said, — 

“ Don’t call them secret missions, Philip, as 
though I wanted to hide them from you. I only 
went yesterday because one of my Sunday class 
had been dangerously hurt and wanted to see 
me. I could not consult you for you was not 


'‘‘Their Children^ 


115 


here, beside I had no doubt of your approval. 
At night you brought home a friend, who stayed 
till late. This morning you seemed much 
preoccupied, and hurried away from breakfast, 
to your business, so that I had no opportunity 
to mention the subject. Beside, dear Philip,” 
she added, putting back the hair from his brow, 
and looking firmly but lovingly into his wav.er- 
ing eyes, ‘‘I did not think it mattered. If I 
cannot be safely left to my own judgment in the 
ordinary affairs of life, I am not fit to be Pliilip 
Blakemere’s wife.” 

“ I don’t think any woman is fit to be my 
wife who disregards my expressed wishes,” he 
answered angrily, liis eyes turning restlessly 
from one point to another, anywhere but to 
Gretchen’s. 

“ Plave I ever done so, Philip ? ” she asked, 
still patiently. 

“Well, you surely know I don’t approve of 
your exposing yourself as you do with your 
teachings and charities, and goodness only 
knows what. I want you to keep in a lady’s 
place, and leave these things to old 'maids and 
widows. It’s all they’re fit for.” 


116 


“ Their Children^ 


“ Perhaps next time you will have leisure to 
go with me,” she said, pleasantly, “ then you 
will sec that there is work not only for old 
maids and widows but for strong men and their 
wives, such as you and me. But never mind 
now,” she continued. “Here is a letter from 
dear Charley. Shall I read it to you ? ” 

“ No, you can tell me if it contains anything I 
need to know,” he replied. “ Probably the 
details have less interest for me than you.” 

For an instant Gretchen’s eye flashed and her 
lip quivered ; but Blakemere was not looking at 
her. Indeed he rarely looked at her now, ex- 
cept for a glance, quickly withdrawn. She 
refolded the letter without speaking, but 
presently regaining self-command, she told him 
in brief the principal points of interest it con- 
tained. He listened in silence, and then took 
up a book pretending to read until the dinner 
bell sounded, which came as a welcome inter- 
ruption to both. 

So far Gretchen had borne the bitter change 
that had come over her domestic life with a 
singular blending of patient meekness and fear- 
less dignity. As yet, she had never retorted 


“ Their Children,^'* 


117 


when goaded by the. harsh words now fast 
becoming familiar to her ear. Her forbearance 
toward her husband seemed like that of a 
guardian angel toward the erring mortal over 
whom he is appointed to watch. 

As for Blakemere, there seemed always a 
struggle going on in his mind that left him not 
one tranquil moment. 

At times he lavished upon Gretchen an excess 
of devotion as if to atone for the waywardness 
of his frequent conduct. 

At others the bare sight of her seemed to 
irritate him beyond control, and her lightest 
word would then provoke from him the most 
captious fault-finding. 

Mabel Flopstock watched the pair with in- 
dignant pity for the one, and doubly indig- 
nant scorn for the other. 

Gretchen’s longsulfpring pften drew forth 
some not over gentle comment on her lack 
of spirit, while she applied the lash all the 
more vigorously to Philip, because he escaped 
so utterly unwhipped by Gretchen herself. 

Lottie Granger laughingly shut her eyes to 
everybody’s troubles and faults, so far as pos- 


118 


Their Children,'*^ 


sible, while she danced along like a merry 
brooklet, whose song rings all the more 
blithely for the impediments over and around 
which it glides. 

If she ever shook her head or gave a sigh 
at the grievous cliange that had come over 
the cottage life since her childish days, it was 
in the solitude of her own chamber, with no 
witness but baby Jennie, whose serious eyes 
often expanded in wonder, at the sudden way 
her young mamma would overwhelm her with 
hugs and kisses, exclaiming, “Papa Ned is 
good, and kind, and jolly, isn’t he, pet ? ” to 
which the infant umpire made answer by kiss- 
ing bapk, and saying, “ I dess papa Ned be 
dood boy, tause we love ’im bushel. Me want 
to tiss him.” * This affectionate impulse ne- 
cessitated the drawing forth of a little paint- 
ing on ivory, that always -hid away on mamma’s 
white neck, just below the lace at her throat, 
and no wonder the child loved the picture 
of papa Ned ; with its ruddy skin, soft’ blue 
eyes, and curling hair, and beard of golden 
brown, all of which would have been very 
effeminate but for a mouth and chin of ex- 


“ Their Children,'' 


119 


traordinary firmness. Perhaps he had never 
come so near having a rival in baby Jennie’s 
affections as now. Dr. Allison, with his sto- 
ries and frolics, was making daily inroads 
upon her little heart, for which his frequent 
presence at the cottage afforded ample op- 
portunity. Since the Blakemeres’ return his 
previous acquaintance had fast warmed into 
friendship for all the inmates of the cottage, 
exclusive of Philip, between whom and him- 
self there was mutual repulsion, their inter- 
course never getting beyond the utmost civility. 
Yet Blakemere ‘still retained sufficient sense 
of what was due the life-long inmates of the 
home into which marriage had so recently 
admitted him, not to oppose their wishes on 
insufficient ground. 

Neither Gretchen nor Lottie took any pains 
to hide their cordial approval of the doctor; 
they saw visions and dreamed dreams, in which 
both he and Mabel took the most prominent 
part. 

It is no business of ours who else had like 
dreams and visions ; but this much we may 
state, that Dr. Allison, an earnest man, doing 


120 


*‘^The.ir Children.'*^ 


an earnest work that brought him into close 
contact with almost every form of suffering, 
had no time for trifling. 

Yet was he keenly alive to the unrest, nay, . 
more, the sometimes bitterness of Mabel’s spirit. 
What made liim so he did not stop to in- 
quire. It was his instinct, alike by nature 
and training, to relieve suffering wherever he 
found it. To do this, he must know its pe- 
culiarities, therefore he made Mabel a study, 
and few men could do so without yielding to 
her manifold attractions both of mind and 
heart. That she was often captious, only in- 
creased his interest. 

These moods were to him only symptoms 
of the malady he wanted to cure ; a malady 
which at first wholly mental, was continually 
acting upon the nervous power in such a 
way as to render it morbidly sensitive and 
irritable. 

Nor was Gretchen overlooked. Watching 
her closely week by week, the doctor saw that 
despite her cheerful serenity, something was 
rapidly giving her a pallor and feebleness 
distressing to him, both as a friend and a 


“ Their Children?'* 


121 


physician. Yes, whatever skeleton lurked in 
the cottage cupboard, its presence was fast 
becoming visible to his observant eye through 
the havoc it was silently making among its 
inmates. 

Of course the gossips of Eau Claire had 
many a sweet morsel to roll under their 
tongues regarding matters at the cottage, 
while a less number of kindly folk maintained 
either that all was well, or in any event, 
not much amiss with these children of the 
still beloved and honored dead. 

Thus stern winter wearied on, telling his 
beads of frost in the long starlight, or anon 
shedding bright tear-drops in the midday sun, 
until, like the ministry of love, soft winds 
came down, and behold, he was transformed 
into gentle spring. 

Lottie still lingered. Business still bound 
Mr. Granger at Madison, and though longing 
for liim sadly, the bright, affectionate little 
woman shrank from leaving Eau Claire, where 
she well knew her presence was a blessing to 
both Mabel and Gretchen. 

“Good morning, ladies,” said Dr. Allison, 


122 


“ Their Children^ 


coming in one morning just as the family 
were leaving the breakfast table. “My apol- 
ogy for this early call lies in these compli- 
mentary tickets to what promises to be a very 
fine concert.” 

“It must be wonderful,” Lottie exclaimed 
merrily, “if it takes all those pieces of card- 
board to admit a forlorn bachelor like you, 
doctor.” 

“You see, my dear madam,” Allison re- 
turned, “ the managers of this affair had more 
compassion for me than you have, putting me 
exactly on an equality with the happy men 
of family, and now, in return for your unkind- 
ness, I want you to consider yourself as belong- 
ing especially to me for the evening.” 

“ Dear me, how magnanimous ! ” she re- 
turned, gayly. “ I begin to feel the coals burn 
already. Come Mabel, why don’t you say 
something provoking. Perhaps you might get a 
share of the same disinterested benevolence.” 

“ Both she and Mrs. Blakemere shall have it 
gratis,” laughed the doctor. “ I came here on 
purpose to invite you all to go with me. I 
seldom have a chance for anything of the sort. 


“ Their Children^^ 


123 


and I want to make this a rare treat for myself. 
I wish I could persuade Mr. Blakemere to be 
one of the party, provided you ladies accept.” 

Philip’s lip curled as he replied, with an air 
of careless indifference, “You know. Doctor, 
neither my wife nor I care for the sort of music 
one hears at these concerts. I presume she will 
prefer remaining at home. Possibly the rest 
may find it to their taste.” 

“ That could hardly be,” Mabel said in her 
scornful way, “ after the rare advantages we 
have latterly enjoyed ; but our civility, though 
hardly learned from the same source, compels us 
to accept your kind invitation with many 
thanks. No doubt Lottie and I will go with 
pleasure.” 

“ Oh, yes indeed ! ” chimed in the merry little 
sister. “I shall enjoy it of all things, and 
perhaps Philip and Gretchen will go just to 
please us. They can tell us what to admire and 
what not to, you know.” 

“ I certainly thank you for my share in your 
kind plan,” Gretchen said, in her sweet, firm 
tones.* . “ Possibly I may persuade my liege 
lord into dividing with you the responsibility of 


124 


Their Children,'*' 


escorting such a troublesome trio as my sisters 
and myself.” 

‘‘ I can manage it, though I hope Blakemere 
will conclude to endure it for our sakes,” the 
doctor replied, pleasantly, as he bowed liimself 
out, and went away to his patients. 

In nothing was Gretchen’s exquisite tact 
more clearly shown than in her skillful avoid- 
ance of even appearing as a martyr to her 
husband’s humors. None ever heard her sigh. 
Her face was never clouded. If she shed tears 
they fell in secret. For Philip she had only 
smiles, yet were they so adroitly managed as 
never to seem out of sympathy with the oc- 
casion. From her, he had never borne the 
shadow of a reproach. The steady light of her 
love shed its brightness all along the devious, 
inexplicable way where he so strangely 
wandered ; making ever easy his return to the 
green pastures and still waters where during the 
first weeks of her marriage Gretchen had 
thought they were always to dwell. Looking 
back to them now they seemed to her far away 
and shadowy, like a bright dream, sq* very 
bright in contrast with the present sombre 
reality. 


“ Their Children,^'' 


125 


Gretchen’s perfect self-poise, and unvarying 
equanimity were marvelous to both Mabel and 
Lottie, well knowing as they did the strength 
of her emotions. They often talked of it in 
confidence wonderingly, ignorant or heedless of 
the key afforded by these words : ‘‘ Thou 

strengthenest me with strength in my soulJ^' It 
was due neither to native amiability nor in- 
difference, neither to inborn dignity nor pride of 
character. Gretchen stayed her soul on God, 
and he abundantly fulfilled to -her the promises 
with which his word abounds. 

Dr. Allison was no sooner gone than Blake- 
mere sprang up, angrily exclaiming, “If you 
think to inveigle me into going to that miser- 
able concert, Gretchen, just to please Allison, 
you are mistaken. He must be a dolt to sup- 
pose any of us want to be bored by it. But no 
doubt he judges of our musical taste by liis 
own.’- 

Gretchen looked at him playfully and said, 
“Well, Philip, the only thing that will inveigle 
me into staying at home, is for you to remember 
and bring that new duett we are to learn. 
Then you must stay and sing it with me all the 


126 


“ Their Children.'^' 


evening. Ten to one if the Doctor hears ns he 
will forget to go.” 

“ Don’t you believe that, Mabel,” cried Lottie. 
“Allison will care no more for these sirens 
when he has the delightful prospect of escorting 
me and my sister to a concert than his pointer 
does for the singing of your canary. And by 
the way, Philip,” she went on, “please call at 
the express office on your way down town and 
tell them to be sure to deliver my dog just the 
moment he arrives.” 

“ Your dog ! ” Mabel exclaimed in amaze- 
ment. “ What do you mean ? ” 

“I mean my dog,” answered the little lady, 
a trifle embarrassed by her sister’s tone. “ The 
way of it is this. I had a letter some time ago 
from Tom Dent, saying he had a beautiful 
Pointer pup that he wanted my husband to 
have (you know they are great friends), only 
he could contrive no way to get it to him. I 
wrote back to send it to me (it is only twenty 
miles. you know), and I would take it on when 
I went back. So yesterday came a letter saying 
the poor thing would be here to-day, and if 
Philip will see about it, I will be much 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


12T 


obliged.” Blakemere, contrary to all expecta- 
tion, burst out laughing in a hearty way it did 
Gretchen good to hear. 

“Well, Lottie,” he said, “if you manage to 
get that dog to Wisconsin, just out of love to 
Granger, you’ll give him about as strong a proof 
of feminine affection as could be devised. My 
opinion is, you have not much idea what you’ve 
undertaken. But I’ll go to the office ; ” saying 
which he went away. 

Mabel looked vexed; but Gretchen, only • 
anxious to remove Lottie’s perturbation at what 
for the first time appeared to look like a mis- 
take, began to plan for the comfort of this 
canine guest. Presently she drew Lottie away 
in search of baby Jennie, with whom they went 
to select an agreeable spot wherein to bestow 
master Pointer on his arrival. 


CHAPTER XII. 


OOR LOTTIE ! It must be confessed 
she had become very nervous about the 
expected arrival. There was in her 
mind a strange mingling of dread and 
curiosity, which but for the concert would have 
made it hard for her to sustain her usual merry 
role. 

This, however, gave her an opportunity^ for 
much sly bantering of Mabel, who ashamed to 
manifest the more than ordinary irritation that 
possessed her, bore her sister’s raillery without 
retort, until exasperated by a sharper thrust 
than usual, she exclaimed, angrily, “Well, really, 
Lottie, one would think your mad-cap spirits 
were running away with you. Between your 
dog and your jesting there will be no living 
with you presently.” 

128 




“ Their Children,'*' 


129 


This rebuke coming from Mabel, in whom she 
stood someAvhat in awe, filled up the measure of 
Lottie’s disquietude. In the old happy days 
before her marriage harsh words were as rare at 
the cottage as in the time of the dear Herr 
Professor and his sister Gretchen. But now, 
alas! nothing seemed the same. Charles was 
gone ; Mabel so altered ; Gretchen grown so 
heavenly good poor Lottie hardly dared touch 
the hem of her garment, and Blakemere the in- 
terloper, either as cross as two sticks or so 
superciliously indifferent she longed to box his 
ears. The contrast flashed before her mind 
almost before she had time to bury her face in 
her hands and burst out crying. 

Baby Jennie dropped her playthings and 
gazed for a minute in open-eyed astonishment. 
Then went waddling as fast as her little fat 
legs would carry her to Mabel’s side, and dealt 
her such a blow with her chubby fist as gave 
evidence of a good share of baby strength. Her 
miniature wrath was so comical that but for 
pride Mabel would have laughed aloud. As it 
was, she caught the little hand, while the child 
looked defiantly in her face. Lottie was too 
9 


iso “ Their Children^ 

busy with her sudden grief to notice this panto- 
mime, and after a moment baby Jennie snatched 
her hand away, and running to her mamma put 
her chubby arms about her neck, murmuring, 
“ I’s ’ou itte girl. I loves ’ou busel.” 

Just here Gretchen came in, and seeing Lottie 
in tears, began with real concern to inquire the 
cause. 

“ Why, I suppose I hurt her feelings,” Mabel 
said shortly. “I told her what with her dogs 
and her nonsense, she was getting unendur- 
able.” 

“ Dear me, Lottie, never cry for that,” 
Gretchen said, cheerily. “ Of course Mabel 
didn’t mean a word of it. She knows your non- 
sense is worth double the half of what passes 
for sense, and as to the dog, he won’t have been 
here a week before she will want him for her 
own. And here he comes now, I verily be- 
lieve,” she exclaimed. 

Lottie caught baby Jennie in her arms, 
dashed away her tears, and ran into the hall just 
as Blakemere entered with a chain in his hand 
by which he Avas leading the Pointer pup. 

“ I’ve got him, Lottie,” he said, evidently in 


“ Their Children.'*^ 


131 


great good humor. “ He’s a perfect beauty ! I 
declare, I wish he was mine ! He is as hungry 
as a bear, though,” he added, hurrying him 
through the house to his temporary kennel, in 
the side yard. Gretchen and Lottie followed, 
anxious to see what manner of beast was here ; 
while Elra brought a plate of tempting morsels 
that vanished like flies before a hungry toad. 

It must be confessed the ladies could see but 
little beauty in master Pointer, aside from his 
large, dark, intelligent eyes and a coat of silky 
brown hair, that on his long ears became soft 
and glossy as the daintiest satin. But his little 
fat body resting on four very short legs was not 
a model of grace. He had seen, however, but 
six weeks of canine existence, and Blakemere 
assured them his figure would improve with 
age. 

With him had come a letter to Lottie from 
Tom Dent, commending the precious quadruped 
to her tenderest care. He also bespoke her 
patience for him if he cried a little for his moth- 
er, as was but natural at first. This appeal 
aroused her mother-heart and made her resolve 
that come what would she would act a mother’s 


132 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


part toward him. That the difference of species 
would make her task perplexing did not at first 
occur to her. “ Where there is a will there is a 
way.” But alas, even proverbs sometimes fail 
when applied to every day affairs. 

Master Pup was evidently much excited by 
his novel experiences, and felt by no means 
ready to accept the attentions of well meaning 
ladies in exchange for those of his absent 
parent. Howls, yelps, barks, whines bore ex- 
pressive testimony to the doggedness of his re- 
solve, until yielding to Philip’s advice they left 
him alone, hoping he would go to sleep. No 
such happy result followed however ; and the 
luckless family ate their sorrowful evening 
bread amid such discords of sound as seldom 
tried their music-loving ears. 

Philip made sport of it, while Gretchen, 
happy in the rare light of his amiability was 
ready to endure a dozen yelping puppies if need 
be. Only Mabel frowned, and proposed “the 
thing ” should be sent back to Tom Dent, forth- 
with; which proposition drew forth a general 
protest. 

After tea, Gretchen proposed making his dog- 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


133 


ship one of the family circle assembled in the 
drawing-room for the hour before Dr. Allison 
would come to take them to the concert. This 
plan evidently met with canine approval, master 
Pup having learned in solitude the value of 
even human society. 

It must be confessed his manners were some- 
what boisterous, as is apt to be the case in ex- 
treme youth, but finally exhaustion got the 
better of him and he sought repose — alas, for 
poor Lottie ! — beneath the soft drapery of 
Mabel’s flowing skirt. Here, close to her 
slippered feet he must lie. No other place 
would do. Falling blissfully asleep, he uttered 
short, quick barks, that acted upon Mabel much 
like an electric shock, yet she bore it with a 
kind of contemptuous patience, determined not 
again to ofPend the little sister. 

All parties were much relieved when Allison 
came ; and as Blakemere had unexpectedly de- 
termined to escort his wife to the concert, just 
for the sport of it, the party was soon under 
way, leaving poor Dash (for so they agreed to 
call him) to the solitude of his kennel. 

The first freshness of Spring was upon all 


134 


“ Their Children, 


things. The scent of springing grass and burst- 
ing leaf-buds was in the soft air. The holy 
twilight tints were slowly fading from the 
western sky, while the early moon hung low 
over the eastern hills. As Mabel walked beside 
Dr. Allison, the very tones of whose voice had a 
power of soothing in them, she felt the softening 
influences all about her. 

Her moods grew more gentle ; and though 
she was silent, leaving the conversation to 
Lottie, Allison looking in her face, saw that .its 
expression was less proud, and when he heard 
her voice in reply to some trifling remark, he 
detected a corresponding change in its tone. 

Upon reaching the concert room, it was dis- 
covered that two of the flve seats were directly 
forward of the other three. These were at once 
assigned to the Blakemeres, Lottie declaring 
that Philip should not sit behind her where he 
could freely pour his criticisms into her ears. 
“You and Mabel shall sit behind them and I 
will come next,” she arranged, “ for then Philip 
will turn lus head from me when he speaks to 
Gretchen, and I shan’t hear what he says. I’m 
not going to have all my comfort spoilt by him, 


“ Their Children,'*' 


135 


I can tell you.” Tims Mabel had the corner 
seat behind Gretchen,. the doctor coming be- 
tween her and Lottie. 

The opening overture was followed by that 
musical gem from Lurline, “ Sweet Spirit, hear 
my Prayer.” The rendering was almost fault- 
less, and the pleading, persuasive notes were to 
Mabel as the utterance of her longing soul, 
seeking help from the only being to whom she 
turned with her wayward heart-sickness, her 
own precious, sainted mother. 

The tears were coming. She was powerless 
to control the rush of feeling thus aroused. 
Despite her pride, the unfitness of time and 
place, her dread of what Dr. Allison would 
think, Mabel was weeping violently. As he 
felt the trembling of her slight figure, and just 
caught the sound of her smothered sobs, the 
doctor rejoiced that he had her in the corner, 
she might escape the observation of their 
o^^^n party. As for himself, he was apparently 
unconscious of anything but the music that 
floated on and on into silence, leaving the audi- 
ence too enraptured even to applaud. 

The next selection was of a wholly different 


136 


“ Their Children.^'* 


character, giving Mabel time to recover self- 
command and hide her flushed face behind a 
friendly vail. Presently Allison turned to her 
with some slight remark, and gradually drew 
her attentibn to the leader of the orchestra, a 
short man, with a short neck, long flowing hair 
and beard to match, bright eyes that flew from 
side to side as lie waved his baton, and bowed 
now here now there, with all the emphasis of 
which his small body was capable. 

Seen through the medium of the doctor’s droll 
comments the little man was grotesque enough, 
and Allison was enjoying his success in making 
Mabel laugh merrily, when an usher hurried to 
him with what seemed an important message. 

“Has Oakes been sent for?” Lottie heard 
Allison ask. 

“Yes,” replied the usher, “but the man says 
he is gone. Beside, he says the poor feUow 
begged hard for you as soon as he could spe^b.” 

“ This is too bad ! ” exclaimed the doctor, 
turning to Mabel. “Here I amj called to some- 
body who is badly hurt. I see no way for me 
but to go, 3' et how can I leave 3"ou ladies ? ” 

“Oh, never mind us. Of course you must 


'‘'‘Their Children,^'" 


137 


go,” Mabel said. “ It is too bad, though, and I 
am very sorry.” 

Allison bent forward and explained the 
necessity to Blakemere ; then turning back to 
Mabel he said playfully, “ I never thought to 
act the part of a Conrad Werner, by escorting 
you somewhere and then taking myself off with- 
out seeing you safe home.” 

“ The cases are hardly parallel,” she replied, 
“beside you may return before the concert is 
over.” 

“I will if possible,” he answered, and was 
gone. 

Of course the evening’s enjoyment was 
seriously marred by this interruption ; at least 
for the two especially dependent on the doc- 
tor’s escort, and though even Blakemere could 
not deny that the concert was exceptionally 
fine, Mabel was glad when it came to an end. 

The doctor had not returned, so the party 
made the best of their way home without him. 

Lottie was glad to find both her baby and 
her dog quietly asleep, a blissful state into 
which she herself quickly passed, after the 
fatigues and worries of the day. The clock was 


138 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


just striking two when she suddenly awoke to 
the dreadful consciousness, that dismal sounds 
were issuing from the kennel in the yard. 

For a while she lay still and listened. She 
wondered if Mabel was awake and listening 
also. Then she bethought herself of an invalid 
girl in the next house, whose slumbers were 
sure to be thus disturbed. 

She must certainly do something to put a stop 
to this howling ; so she got up, and having part- 
ly dressed, went down as noiselessly as possible, 
her great dread being lest she should meet 
Mabel. 

She however reached the kennel in safety, 
and unfastened the chain, thinking to bring her 
inconvenient charge to her OAvn room until 
morning. 

The poor animal, overjoyed at even a woman’s 
presence in his distress, yelped forth his delight, 
at the same time giving such a bound that 
the chain slipped from Lottie’s hand. No soon- 
er did he realize his freedom than he darted 
through the half open gate, and down the street 
at a rate that bid defiance to poor Lottie’s ut- 
most speed. She still followed however, 


“ Their Children^ 


139 


regardless of everytliing in her dismay, but the 
hope of at least keeping the provoking thing in 
sight. 

She soon found this impossible in the dim 
moonlight that was now obscured by thin 
clouds. She stood still trying to think what she 
had best do. She could not bring herself to go 
home and leave the truant puppy to his fate. 
In the midst of her quandary she heard ap- 
proaching footsteps ; and seized with sudden 
fear at her unusual position alone upon the 
street in the dead of night, she began walking 
rapidly toward home. 

Nevertheless the steps gained upon her, until 
yielding to her alarm she ran with all her might, 
and had just reached her own yard when she 
heard her name. Th^ voice sounded like Dr. 
Allison’s, and she waited for him to come up, 
when to her relief she found it was him. 
Better still, he was leading Dash. 

“ O doctor ! ” she exclaimed, all out of breath 
and shaking from head to foot. “ I’m so glad it 
is you 1 ” How did you happen to catch him ? ” 

“He ran into me,” Allison answered. “I 
thought how it was, though I hardly expected 
to meet you too, abroad.” 


140 


“ Their Children^ 


“ Why, Doctor, what ails you ? ” asked Lottie, 
suddenly. “ Your voice sounds very strangely. 
Are you sick?” 

“ Oh, no,” he replied. ‘‘ I have been a good 
deal tried by the case to which I was called. 
That is all. I shall be in to-morrow. Can I do 
anything further for you? ” 

“No, thank you,” Lottie answered. “I’m 
going to take this nuisance up to my room till 
morning.” 

“ Good night, then,” he said, and passed on, 
leaving the worried little lady to make the best 
of her way back to her chamber with her 
troublesome charge. 

Here in a snug corner she improvised a soft 
bed close to her own, which appeared perfectly 
acceptable to liis canine tastes. Then she laid 
her weary body to rest, in the hope that her 
troubles were ended at least for the night. 

Again she slept, and dreamed of running to 
overtake her husband, who suddenly changed 
into a brown puppy, waving a baton and making 
profound bows, when, with a scream and a 
bound, she found herself in the middle of the 
floor. Oh, what was the matter ! For a moment 


“ Their Children J"' 


141 


she could not imagine, until by the light of her 
night lamp, she saw master Dash with his fore 
paws on her pillow, his silky brown head cocked 
on one side, while his bright eyes looked out at 
her from between those satin ears in evident 
amazement at the commotion. In an outburst 
of canine gratitude at being rescued from that 
dismal kennel, he had arisen to give his kind 
mistress a kiss of affection. How was he to 
know that his black nose was wet, and cold as 
ice ? His mother never told him so. 

“ Oh, if the thing were only back where he 
came from ! ” Lottie exclaimed, ready to cry 
with vexation. But no, she would not give up 
the point so, after what both Mabel and Philip 
had said. The dog would learn better by and 
by. She would keep him for papa Ned, if she 
had to watch with him every night for a week. 
And watch she did through most of this night 
at least. She felt repaid, however, when upon 
meeting the family at breakfast, she found that 
they had not been disturbed. 

Philip was in good spirits, Gretchen 
unaffectedly happy, and Mabel more herself 
than for some time previous. 


142 


“ Their Children'^ 


“I imagine Allison will be in to-day to 
explain his non appearance,” Blakemerc 
remarked. “ The case must have been an 
urgent one, to keep him so long.” 

Lottie kept her own counsel, like the wise 
little woman she was. 

“Well, I must own he gave us a treat last 
night,” Philip went on. “ ’Twas such a pity he 
could not enjoy it himself ! ” 

“ So it was,” rephed Gretchen ; “ suppose, to 
make amends, you bring him home to dine, and 
show him the curiosities we gathered abroad. 
You know he has often sjpoken of examining 
them, but the right time never seemed to come 
for you to show them.” 

“Very well ; so be it, my beauty,” Blakemere 
said, kissing his wife. Then catching baby 
Jennie he tossed her about till she shouted for 
glee, and ran to the window to watch him as he 
went away to the bank. 

Oh, how bright the cottage seemed for this 
flash of genial sunshine ! How the loving 
words nestled in the young wife’s heart and 
sang to her all day long ! 

If, as has been admirably said, “ Politeness is 


“ Their Children,^’’ 


143 


real kindness kindly expressed,” how shall we 
define its opposite, that so often casts its blight 
over what might otherwise be a happy home 
life. 

Blakemere called at the doctor’s ojBfice on 
his way down, but finding him out was obliged 
to defer his invitation till later. Arrived at the 
bank, he found his uncle, who greeted him 
with, “ What do you think of the news, 
Philip ? ” 

“ What news, sir ? ” he replied. 

“Why, about Werner. Just think of his 
venturing back here, and then getting himself 
killed before we had time even to see him.” 

The old gentleman was not surprised that 
Philip was just then absorbed with his rubbers, 
so that his face was hidden, nor that going to 
put them away in a closet, he lingered while he 
said, “ I have heard nothing of it, uncle.” 

“ Why, how’s that ? ” Mr. Blakemere asked, 
half impatiently. “ They said Allison was with 
you at a concert when he was called to him,” 

“ That may be,” Philip said, still busy in the 
closet. “We went to a concert together, and 
he was called out, but we didn’t know to whom. 


144 


Their Children,^^ 


He did not come back, nor have I seen him 
since.” 

“Well, they say,” the old gentleman 
continued, “that Werner came back in disguise 
to see his mother, and just as he left the cars he 
managed to get run over and so badly hurt that 
he only lived a few hours. They carried him 
into the station and sent for Allison. When he 
got there he saw there was no help for the poor 
fellow ; so he had him carried to his mother’s, 
and staid by him till he died.” 

Philip made no answer. He was very busy 
in the closet. Did he realize the change that 
had come over his face? Would his uncle 
notice it if he came out into the morning light ? 

“ They say he made a clean breast of it to 
Allison,” continued his unconscious uncle. “I 
wonder how Franse w’ould like that ? But 
never mind. I bear him no ill will now he is 
dead and gone. I shall go to the funeral, for his 
mother’s sake.” With which charitable declara- 
tion he left the room without ever thinking that 
his remarks had not drawn a single response 
from his nephew. 



CHAPTER XIIL 

S Philip predicted, Dr. Allison called 
during the morning, but his manner was 
so constrained, nay, almost embarrassed, 
that the ladies were much perplexed. 

“We were very sorry you lost the concert, 
doctor,” Gretchen said. “ I can hardly tell you 
how much we all enjoyed it.” 

“ That patient must have been a hard hearted 
one,” said Lottie, after waiting a moment for 
the doctor to speak. “If it is anybody I know, 
I’m going to give him or her a good scolding for 
keeping you away from us all the evening, and 
making you lose such a treat.” 

“ Who was it ? ” Mabel asked. 

“ Is it possible you have not heard ? ” Allison 
replied, in evident surprise. 

10 



145 


146 


“ Their Children^ 


“We have heard nothing,’^ Gretchen said; 
“we have seen nobody to-day.’’ 

“Well, I am sorry to be the first to tell you 
that I was called to poor Werner.” 

“Not George Werner!” Mabel exclaimed, 
turning pale. 

“ Yes. He came back by stealth, to bid his 
aged mother good bye, before going to Cali- 
fornia, and just as he left the cars he was struck 
by an engine running on a side track. Nothing 
could be done for him, and he only lived a few 
hours.” 

“ O doctor, how dreadful I ” Lottie exclaimed. 
Gretchen and Mabel were silent. 

At last Gretchen asked, “Did he see his 
mother?” 

“ Yes, we carried him home,” replied Allison. 

“ How long did he live ? ” 

“ Till after midnight.” 

“ Who was with him ? ” inquired Mabel. 

“No one but his mother and myself.” 

“Was he conscious of his condition?” 
Gretchen asked. 

“ Perfectly so, till almost the last.” 

“ Was he very much distressed at the thought 
of death?” she continued. 


“ Their Cfhildren,^'* 


147 


“ Oh, do not ask me. I can’t talk about it,” 
he exclaimed, starting up and walking the room 
in uncontrollable agitation. 

“Forgive me, doctor,” Gretchen said, sooth- 
ingly. “It must be a painful subject, and I 
was very thoughtless to press it. Let us say no 
more about it. Philip will be in very soon. 
He promised to come home early if you agreed 
to dine with us.” 

“ Excuse me, Mrs. Blakemere,” Allison said, 
suddenly seized with a hurry to be gone. “I 
cannot possibly stay.” 

“ Didn’t my husband see you on his way to 
the bank? ” she asked, in surprise. 

“ No, I have not seen him to-day.” 

“ Then you did not get our invitation to 
dinner ! I am very sorry.” 

“You are very kind,” he said, “ but my 
business is such to-day I can not possibly 
come.” 

“Are you quite sure you can’t stay?” urged 
Lottie. “ There is Philip coming now.” 

“ No, I thank you. Indeed I can’t,” he said 
hurriedly, and seizing his hat he left the room 
almost without saying good morning. 


148 


“ Their Children 


He hurried to the street door, hoping to 
escape before Blakemere came up, hut he was a 
moment too late, and they met face to face. 
For an instant they looked at each other with- 
out speaking. Only an instant, but the look 
was as an electric wire between their souls over 
which flashed a question and its answer. 

“Do you not dine with us to-day, doctor?” 
Blakemere said, letting his eyes fall, while the 
color mounted to his forehead and then went 
back leaving him many shades paler than usual. 

“Not to-day, thank you,” Allison said; and 
with a “ good morning ” went quickly away. 

Philip passed into the house, and one glance 
showed his wife that he was in his worst 
possible humor. As usual he turned the full 
force of it upon her in fault-flnding or ridicule 
until even her patience was nearly exhausted. 

She mentioned what the doctor had told them 
about Werner, to which Philip listened eagerly, 
until she said, “ He seemed very much over- 
come. It was strange to me that a man so 
familiar with such scenes should feel so keenly 
about a comparative stranger.” Then he 
exclaimed, savagely, between his teeth, “ Con- 
found the man ! ” 


“ Their Children.^^ 


149 


Gretchen looked at him in astonishment, and 
he suddenly stopped, caught up a paper, threw 
himself back in his chair and began to read. 

Gretchen had long since given up trying to 
account for her husband’s conduct. She felt 
herself hopelessly involved in mystery regarding 
the two who were nearest and dearest to her on 
earth; but she prayed for faith to leave it all 
with God. She tried not to struggle,- not to 
distract her mind with vain conjectures. She 
said, “I will wait patiently till God lets’ me 
know.” 

Not so Mabel. She was now in her cham- 
ber, turning over and over in her own mind this 
new hnk in what she believed to be a com- 
plete chain of circumstances, reaching from 
Charles’ return to the bank as cashier, to the 
present time. How her head and heart ached, 
with trying to make something out of the 
isolated facts that lay few and far between, 
along the wide field of conjecture over which 
she vainly wandered. Gretchen and Mabel 
were alike at sea among their doubts, with 
neither chart nor compass ; but while the one 
had ever her eyes lifted to the heavens for help, 


150 


“ Their Children, 


the other kept hers persistently on the waves. 
For Gretchen, there was always a “ Peace, be 
still,” but Mabel chose to breast the storm 
alone. 

What wonder, then, that she was impatient 
when Lottie asked her opinion about the 
choice of an embroidery pattern for baby 
Jennie’s summer sacque, while Gretchen, to 
whom the little mother afterward went for 
advice, entered into every curve and angle of 
the design, as though braiding was the sole 
object of her life. 

Lottie’s two babies, biped and quadruped, 
were becoming fast friends, and a pretty sight 
they were together. The second evening of 
Dash’s sojourn at the cottage, found him curled 
up in his comfortable bed near Lottie’s, with 
baby Jennie sitting on the floor beside him. 
With one little soft hand she patted his brown 
head, while she sang to a tune of her own 
composing, “ S’eep, baby, s’eep.” 

Her other hand was on her plump little knee, 
that just peeped out from under her. night- 
gown, as did also a rosy little foot. Her face 
was bent toward the dog, and over it fell the 


• “ Their Children^ 


151 


rings of golden hair. Gretchen thought it 
was a picture for an artist’s pencil. Lottie 
did’nt think about the artist, but she knew it 
was a pretty sight, and wished papa Ned were 
there to see. 

At last the child got up with great caution, 
and coming to Lottie, whispered, — 

“ i’s dot him fast to seep, mamma, now I*s 
doin to tay my p’ayer and do in my bed.” 

She knelt down, and folding her hands rever- 
ently, repeated, Now I lay me down to sleep,” 
without mistake ; then, as usual, she said, 
“Pease bess papa Ned,” and almost instantly 
added, “ and dear Dod pease make unky Pillit a 
dood boy, so he . toss baby Jennie tome more 
to-morrow.” 

There were tears in Gretchen’s eyes as she 
kissed the little one good-night ; and afterward 
Lottie had a hearty cry that nobody knew 
anything about, but you and I, dear reader. 

I wish I could record that puppy Dash 
remained all night in the state of quiet 
where baby Jennie left him, but alas! truth 
(3ompels me to state that his mistress’ slumbers 
were exceedingly fragmentary. Still she would 


152 


Their dhildren,'*^ 


rather watch a week, than yield her point, or 
have anybody lose a wink of sleep on account 
of what they considered her folly ; but during 
these night watches, her brain conceived a plan 
for future relief, that she carried out next 
day, unaided and alone. 

In the shed-chamber, where she had played 
away so many, happy, childish hours, was a 
large box, which by dint of expending much 
time, strength and patience, she succeeded in 
carrying to her room, unseen. In this she 
intended her puppy should sleep, till such 
time as he could reasonably be expected to 
return to his kennel and behave like a sensi- 
ble dog. She grew so pleased with her plan, 
that she was impatient for the night, that she 
might test it. At last the hour came. Baby 
Jennie was asleep, and with stern determination 
she put Dash in his box, upon his soft bed 
of fragrant hay. He was very submissive, 
and curled himself down without resistance, 
though from my knowledge of the race I have 
no doubt a close observer would have detected 
a roguish twinkle in his eye. 

Over the box Lottie proceeded to la^ the slats 


“ Their Children^ 


153 


she had prepared, and upon these some chairs to 
keep them down, should the prisoner attempt to 
escape. She considered the arrangement singu- 
larly happy, as it permitted him to look out 
freely and feel himself in company, while it kept 
him in place. 

The night was warm, and Lottie, heated 
with lier unusual labors, was glad to join her 
sister in the music-room, from whence the 
rich tones of Gretchein’s voice had been com- 
ing to her ears for th& last half hour. 

Blakemere, too morose to sing with his 
wife, lay upon a sofa, and Lottie stole quietly 
in to an easy chair by the window, prepared 
for a season of quiet enjoyment. 

Gretchen’s voice was always rich and soul- 
full ; but now it went forth into the twi- 
light, as if uttering all the pent up emotions 
of her heart. 

“ I declare, Gretchen, you surpass yourself 
to-night,” Philip exclaimed, charmed out of 
his moodiness by the irresistible admiration 
she awoke in him. 

“ Then come and sing our new duett,” 
she said, hardly expecting he would comply. 


154 


“ Their Children.'*^ 


He went, however; and they were just be- 
ginning to mingle their voices, when there 
came a loud crash. All paused to listen, 
looking toward the door, at which almost 
immediately Sir Dash appeared, every hair 
on his round body seeming to curl with tri- 
umph over his gay little mistress. 

There was no help for it, she must explain ; 
when in the midst of this trying ordeal, baby 
Jennie stood in the door with serious, fright- 
ened eyes, and said, “Why, mamma! it tun- 
dered!'^ 




CHAPTER XIV. 

COKING in upon Charles Franse, we 
find him sitting by the open window 
of his bed-room at Herr Humbert’s. 
We had almost said he was enjoying 
the spring sunshine, but that would hardly 
be true, as he was thinking nothing about 
it. He was absorbed in . reading an abstruse 
book, from among the many that now stood 
arranged in clean and orderly ranks upon 
the student’s library shelves. Since we first 
went with him into the German’s rooms, they 
have undergone a marked change. He now 
rejoices in an admirable ordering and classifi- 
cation of the treasures that then cumbered 
his floor. His study walls are lined with 
shelves and cases, where the rarest of them 

155 



156 


Their Children,’*^ 


are placed, and his writing table often re- 
sounds with the rap he gives it as he glances 
up at them, and exclaims, “ Didn’t I tell 
you so, Henrich Humbert? I knew the boy 
had it in him.” 

Yes, the work young Franse had come to 
do, was almost finished. He had given him- 
self to it with an energy he always showed 
in anything he took in hand, yet there had 
also been time for much study of the books, 
among which he found every prominent worh 
on science in its various departments. Phi- 
losophy and metaphysics also abounded, beside 
an excellent selection of History and Belle 
Lettres, but in all the house there was no 
Bible, nor a single work that could be called 
religious. 

Led on at first by curiosity to know the 
thoughts that had so strongly infiuenced the 
human mind, Charles read on until he became 
fascinated by reasoning, at once so novel to 
anything he had before met, and so subtile 
as to gain a powerful hold of him before he 
was aware that he was more than entertained. 

Deprived of the happy companionship he 


“ Their Children'' 


157 


had hitherto enjoyed, and weighed down with 
secret care, his mind was pecnliarly suscep- 
tible to evil influences, as is the body when 
worn and overtaxed. The spiritual atmosphere 
he now breathed was infected with a miasm 
of unbelief, which, striking at the very heart 
of revealed truth, denies man’s guilt in the 
sight of God, and makes him independent 
both of a Saviour and Sanctifler. 

Though carefully instructed in the faith of 
his parents, Charles had never been at one 
with it in his heart. Though he observed 
its forms, he contented himself with a morality 
which, though admirable in itself, can never 
satisfy God’s demands upon the soul, or raise 
it to the place he designed it to occupy. 

Wandering in these new flelds of thought, 
he was charmed to hear, that of himself he 
could arrive at all truth divine as well as 
human, without that heavenly aid he had 
heretofore been taught was indispensable. 
Like the animals, he could unaided attain the 
end of his being, and reach perfection, though 
what this end, this perfection was, did not 
clearly appear. In short, man, and conse- 


158 


Their Children.' 


qu^ntly Charles Franse, was a being wholly ... 
adequate to himself. 

At first, he was startled at doctrines so at 
variance with truth as he had been taught 
it, but as day by day, and week by week, 
he drank at the same fountain, he became 
intoxicated with its strange waters, and ended 
by giving himself up wholly to their influence. 

Yet so far he had never exchanged a word 
with Herr Humbert on these all absorbing 
themes. He shrank from putting the seal of 
speech upon his silent agitations, thus bring- 
ing them into tangible shape. He was not 
quite ready to give up the old faith for the 
new. 

Whenever Gretchen’s letters came he threw 
aside his books in dissatisfaction, but as often 
returned to them. 

He had not entered a church since coming 
to Leipsic, at first from dislike to going among 
strangers, afterward from doubt if there really 
were any church to go to. 

Herr Humbert had in vain urged him to 
find out his father’s old friends, many of whom 
were still living. Charles steadily refused, 


“ Their Children^ 


159 


begging him as a personal favor not to make 
liis presence known to them. The German 
yielded reluctantly, believing that time would 
remove the whim, but in this he was mis- 
taken. The winter passed, bringing no change 
save in their home life, order coming out of 
confusion, cleanness from untidiness, till, by 
the aid of Frau Herman, whom Charles at 
last persuaded the scholar to allow in his 
rooms, promising not to take his eyes off her 
while she stayed, all things had assumed that 
air of comfort and neatness she knew so well 
how to give. 

Herr Humbert was much too honest to 
hide his pleasure at this improvement, and 
it also became plain that he was fast trans- 
ferring a large share of his love for his old 
friend, Herr Franse, to his son. 

Charles returned it in part, though his first 
impressions of Herr Flumbert’s character had 
been modified by more intimate acquaintance. 
His genial kind-heartedness and humor were 
often interrupted by seasons of gloom, dur- 
ing which he seemed to become a perfect 
cynic in his views of men and things. He 


160 


Their Children,^'* 


would quarrel with statements and deductions, 
which in a different mood he would defend, 
and challenge his young secretary to prove 
him wrong. Charles always exerted himself 
to the utmost in these contests, knowing he 
could in no way so gratify his adversary as 
to defeat him ; yet he was at a loss to un- 
derstand these moods, or occasional remarks 
that at such times seemed to drop almost un- 
awares from the student’s lips, indicating a 
hopeless despondency, at which the young man 
greatly marveled. 

Involuntarily he contrasted all this with the 
sublime patience and equanimity he so well 
remembered as distinguishing his father, even 
in his final struggle with death itself. 

Herr Humbert had a morbid dread of phys- 
ical decay. His theory was, that if mankind 
only possessed sufficient knowledge, disease and 
death might be banished from, or at least, 
indefinitely postponed on the earth, which, 
from long study of its wonderful formations, 
curious growths, and hidden treasures, had be- 
come his idol. 

Though his scientific searches were extended 


Their Children^^ 


161 


as far as possible through space, yet the ball 
he trod, perhaps from being the nearest, was 
the dearest of all. 

Young Franse knew that many a book on 
the library shelves taught the “dread senti- 
ment that the universe displays no proof of 
an all directing mind.” Still he shrank from 
the idea that Herr Humbert gave it the 
sanction of his belief. 

As for himself, he never read them. He 
was not quite ready to approach the awful 
brink of total unbelief. He longed to be 
certain that the sometimes merry German had 
not taken the plunge ; that he was not strug- 
gling in the dark waters. 

, Of one thing he was sure; the spring did 
not find Herr Humbert the hearty, healthy 
man the fall had left him. He made no com- 
plaint. He labored on, rose early, went late 
to bed ; but his appetite was fitful, his step 
less firm, and once or twice a strange dim- 
ness of sight, and temporary difficulty of ut- 
terance, had overtaken him. 

Charles thought of none of these things, 
however, sitting by the window in the spring. 

11 


162 *■ Their Children.'^' 

sunshine. His book engrossed him, until Frau 
Herman came to bring him a letter from his 
twin sister. 

Her picture was in it, very like herself, 
Charles ; thought, yet wanting, as all pictures 
must, the changeful look of responsive sym- 
pathy which gives the faces we love their 
tenderest charm. 

The letter was merrier than usual, containing 
an account of poor Lottie’s trials with Sir Dash, 
especially on the evening when we left baby 
Jennie standing in the door of the music room. 

: Looking over Charlie’s shoulder, as he reads, 
we find that on the following day our canine 
friend was consigned to the care of a land 
farmer, a mile or so from Eau Claire, since 
which time his mistress had made continued 
raids on the land of Nod for the recovery of her 
lost sleep. The letter being a fortnight old, 
Charles indulged a reasonable hope that matters 
at the cottage were now restored to their 
pre~canine state. 

Yet how these home pictures harrowed his 
very soul, longing, as it did, for the old life. 
His idealistic book no longer charmed him. He 


Their. Children^ 


16'3 


wanted Gretclien, Mabel, the cottage, the lawn, 
all, all the dear, familiar objects about which his 
very heart-strings twined. But this would 
never do. He caught his hat and hurried 
out for a walk. As he went rapidly along one 
of the principal streets, he noticed a gentle- 
eyed, golden-haired woman of perhaps twenty 
years, bending her fair face to talk with a poor 
little girl in ragged clothes. 

He heard her say, “ Tell your mother not 
to worry ; I will be there in half an hour.” 

Then they both went on their way, and he on 
his ; but the little scene lingered in his 
thoughts, reminding him so forcibly of 
Gretchen’s sweet kindness. 

On coming home to supper, he found Herr 
Humbert, who having been gone all day, had 
returned in one of his happiest moods. 

“ Hranse,” he began, as soon as they were 
seated at the table, “ this whim of yours about 
shutting yourself away from all society, must 
yield, at least for to-night. Madam Liebnitz 
saw me to-day, and nothing would do but 
she must know who was living with me. Of 
course, when she heard the name, nothing 


164 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


would do again, but you must go and see 
her. Her husband, the doctor, was a warm 
friend of your father’s. Beside, he thought 
everything of Mabel Marsdon. I think the 
Frau told me he saved her life once.” 

Charles did not answer immediately. He was 
evidently more annoyed than he cared to 
show. At last he said, “ Well, really, my dear 
sir, if I could break over my rule in any case, I 
would do so here, but I have strong reasons 
for wishing not to make any acquaintances.” 

“Well, never mind your reasons, boy, 
come to-night, and I won’t say another word 
about it,” persisted the German. 

So they went. 

If any of my readers have seen the portraits 
of the sculptor Thorwaldsen, they can make for 
themselves a better picture of Madam Liebnitz, 
than my pen can draw. There is seldom as 
much resemblance between brother and sister as 
between them. Changing the pronoun, we 
quote a recent description of the artist, as 
fitting this dear old lady more nearly than 
we can hope to do. 

“She was rather above the middle height. 


Their Children,'*^ 


165 


The outline of her face was rather square. 
The general expression was calm and 
thoughtful, . and very pleasing. Her eyes were 
light and penetrating. Her mouth wide and 
closely shut. She wore her hair, which had 
grown nearly white, in large masses divided 
over her fine, broad- forehead, and falling 
something like a lion’s mane, nearly to her 
shoulders.” 

Add to the above, the fall of her lace cap, 
the white of her muslin neckerchief lying in 
soft folds about her still beautiful throat, reliev- 
ing the shade of her black dress, and you 
have an expressive whole most interesting to 
gaze at. 

Her voice was full and musical, with a moth- 
erly sound in it that went straight to the 
heart of young Franse. 

He had not been with her half an hour before 
there came stealing over him a feeling aldn 
to his old-time, boyish happiness, when he 
listened to his mother’s gentle wdrds, or led his 
blind but happy father abroad in the summer 
twilight. 

His life for the past few months had been so 


166 


“ Their Children, 


lonely, he had felt like such an outcast, despite 
his determination to the contrary, that this 
change to the sweet, womanly atmosphere of 
Frau Liebnitz’s house, was like coming from the 
bare, bleak heaths of Scotland, into the 
sunny landscapes of France. 

She talked of his father, his aunt Gretchen, 
and Mabel, his half-sister. She was full of 
interest about himself and all the present 
inmates of the cottage in far-off America, 
but whether from native delicacy, or some 
warning from Herr Humbert, she made no allu- 
sion to the why or wherefore of his ^Dresence in 
Leipsic. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “that Margaret, my 
grand-daughter, is not here to-night. But you 
must come again soon, and let me show her 
to you. She is all that is left me of a once 
large family, and very likely I think more of 
her than she deserves.” 

“Not a bit of it,” cried Herr Humbert. 
“ She is as pretty as a moss-rose, and as good 
as mint. Where’s she gone ? ” 

“To see a sick woman in one of the back 
streets. ’Twas a sad case ; little children crying 


“ Their Children.^'' 


167 


for bread, and no money. She took Simon with 
her. You know I never let her go alone.’’ 

“ I shouldn’t let her go anyway, if she were 
mine,” the student answered. 

Madam Liebnitz laughed. “I know it, Herr, 
but then the child seems cut out for that very 
work. You know she is quite a doctress, 
abeady.” 

“ I don’t knoTv anything about it,” he replied 
impatiently. “ A fresh, young thing like her 
has no business with sickness or distress of any 
sort. She ought to sit and sing all day, like the 
birds.” 

“ Dear me ! how tired she would get,” 
laughed the good lady, as the gentlemen said 
good-night, and went away. 

Hitherto Charles had welcomed sleep as his 
only relief from the burdens of his own life. 
To-night, he was in no hurry to forget either the 
sweet young picture seen in his walk, or the 
older one he found in Madam Liebnitz’s parlor. 

“ I’m certain not to like that grand- 
daughter,” he soliloquized. “No girl could go 
round as Herr Humbert says she does, among 
the scum of the city, nursing this, that and 


168 


Their ChildrenJ^ 


the other sick wretch, AAlthout getting coarse 
and brazen-faced. She may be as good as mint, 
but as to being as lovely as a moss-rose, I beg 
leave to doubt it.” Then the thought of 
Gretchen, and her deeds of charity came into 
his mind. But after all, there was this differ- 
ence, she did not nurse the poor folks herself, 
she only saw that somebody else did, and 
herself gave money freely for their comfort. 

Then he wandered off to thoughts about his 
own immediate future. This work for Herr 
Humbert was almost done. To-morrow he 
would finish the last pile of books. Then he 
must look for other employment. It cost him a 
sigh to think of leaving the roof where he 
had first found shelter ; the friend who had 
so kindly aided him in his voluntary exile from 
home. He wondered if Herr Humbert would 
be sorry to give him up ; if his library would 
still be open to him in case he remained in Leip- 
sic. This brought to mind the book he was 
reading when Gretchen’s letter came, and he 
sighed heavily, thinking of his father’s piety, of 
which Madam Liebnitz had spoken in such 
glowing terms to-night. 


Their Children'^ 


169 


She had also said, ‘‘ I hope his son is like him 
in this,” with a smile full of benevolent inter- 
est. Now, in the . darkness, these words came 
back to the young man, and hurt him. They 
seemed suddenly to show him how far he 
had wandered from the faith and practice 
of his parents. 

Alone with his ever-present burden, among 
the pitfalls of Philosophy, Idealism and Infi- 
delity that crowded the scientist’s shelves, 
he had become involved . in a labyrinth of 
mysticism, out of which he saw no way, 
either back to his starting point, or forward 
to any firm ground of unbelief. That one little 
sentence had revealed to hun his position, 
and he shrank from facing it. 

If he had paid but slight heed either to 
the Bible or its teachings, he had,, up to leaving 
home, revered it as a God-given rule of faith 
and action. He now found himself doubting 
its inspiration, nay, even its authenticity. 
Alas, alas ! Poor wanderer not only from home 
but God! What wonder that his heart was 
heavy, his face pale, liis eye sad, and his whole 
bearing, though fuU of the proud resolve Mabel 


170 


Their Children,'^' 


saw when she met him coming from the 
hank, full, also, of an air of desponding gloom, 
when for a time he rested* from the constant 
occupation to wliich he forced himself. 

No doubt Herr Humbert had many curious 
thoughts about his faithful secretary, whose 
companionship was so pleasant to him ; but 
he kept silence about them, except sometimes to 
say half aloud, ‘‘ I wish I knew what sent 
the boy from home.” 




CHAPTER XY. 



HARLES began bis work next day with 


the feeling we always bring to the end 


of anything into which we have put 
Qj a whole-hearted interest. We part from 
it reluctantly, no matter how gladly we look 
beyond it to something new. There was no 
definite ‘‘something’’ beyond his present al- 
most ended task to lure young Franse, but 
as usual he went to it with energy, as the 
best antidote to care. 

The books he was now to arrange were 
piled diagonally across a corner of the library, 
and reached nearly to the ceiling. He was 
obliged to mount a step-ladder to come at 
the topmost ones, which he began carefully 
to examine, and lay in various heaps on the 


171 


I 


172 


“ Their Children,'*'' 


floor, but as his eye became accustomed to 
the dim light beyond, he spied something in 
the corner that roused his curiosity. As soon 
as possible he reached over and drew it up 
to the light, when he discovered it to be a 
figure in bronze, but so covered with dust 
and cobwebs as entirely to hide its design. 
In lifting it he was surprised at its weight, 
which seemed great for its height, which was 
less than two feet, but placing it upon a table 
by the window, he began a vigorous assault 
on its time honored covering. As he worked, 
he became every moment more certain he had 
under his hand a rare work of art. When at 
last he placed the figure in the best hght 
and stepped back to view it, he uttered an 
involuntary cry of delight and admiration. He 
had seen many bronzes, but never, he thought, 
one to equal this for exquisite workmanship 
and life-likeness. The figure seemed to him 
to represent a traveler toiling up an ascent, 
his eager eye fixed upon some coveted prize 
on the summit. The face was scarred and 
worn and wrinkled, yet full of cheerful cour- 
age, and firm resolve, while a calm peace 


“ Their Children*^ 


173 


seemed to pervade it as does sunlight a 
rugged landscape. The drapery of a cloak 
softened, without concealing, the muscular vigor 
represented in every limb, and as Charles 
gazed he could hardly realize that the statue 
was not instinct with the earnest purpose, the 
eager life it so well represented. 

What original had suggested to the artist 
a subject so simple, yet so striking ?. He 
searched in vain both history and mythology 
for one that would meet the case. 

At last he returned to his work, often stop- 
ping to feast his eyes on the beautiful treas- 
ure he had discovered. 

But how came it hidden away in a corner, 
where it was plain it must have long remained 
undisturbed? 

He waited impatiently for Herr Humbert 
to return, hoping he would be able to give 
him the desired information. 

No sooner were they seated at supper than 
Franse began his eager questionings. 

“ Oh, yes, I remember. I had forgotten 
all about that thing,” replied the German. 
“A friend gave it to me ever so many years 


1T4 


Their Children 


ago. He was a sort of lunatic on the subject 
of art collections. Show him the most curious 
stone or fossil, and he cared no more for it 
than an ape, but a statue or a picture, es- 
pecially if it had the merit of age, and he 
was a mass of delight from head to foot. 

“Well, for all that, he was a man of sense, 
and a warm friend of mine. When he of- 
fered to give me that bronze, in an outburst 
of affectionate interest, I made a show of 
being pleased, and while he lived I kept it 
in the front rank among my treasures, for fear 
I should wound his honest soul by my in- 
difference. After he died it got displaced, 
and passed entirely out of my mind.” 

“ Can you really be in earnest in saying 
you care nothing for it?” Charles asked, in 
astonishment. 

“ I was never more so,” replied Herr Hum- 
bert. “If you want the thing, pray take it, 
in welcome. I am glad for the sake of my old 
friend, that it has fallen into the hands of 
somebody who will value it. If I remember 
rightly, it is supposed to be quite an antiqXiity.” 

“In the words of an American friend of 


Their Children?'' 


175 


mine, ‘ your kindness forget I never shall,’ ” 
laughed the young man. “The gift will have 
a double value for me, its own intrinsic merit, 
and as a memento of one who has been very 
kind to me.” 

“ Tut, tut, boy, none of that. Maybe *I’ve 
done you more harm than good after all.” 
And with this the student went away to his 
books and his writing-table, while Charles dis- 
posed his new requisition in the most favor- 
able spot his room afforded, where he could 
feast his eyes on it continually. He wondered 
if Madam Liebnitz would admire it as much 
as he did, and fell asleep determining to ask 
her permission to show it to her. 

He had left Herr Humbert busily writing, 
when he came to bed, and next morning on 
going as usual to the study, he found him 
sitting much as he had left him the previous 
evening. 

“ Good morning, sir,” he said, “ one would 
think you had not left your chair all night.” 
Then he paused, expecting the student to 
look around and speak, but in vain. A sud- 
den fear came over him. He sprang to his 


176 


“ Their Children*'*^ 


side. Herr Humbert lifted his once keen 
eye, now dim in its imploring helplessness, to 
Charles, but made no motion, uttered no 
sound. Paralysis was upon him. Terrified 
beyond measure, the young man raised him 
carefully in his arms and laid him on his 
bed, then sent Frau Herman for a doctor, 
and watched by the bedside until he came. 
The time, though short, seemed interminable, 
having neither knowledge nor power to do 
anything for the sufferer, and obliged to stand 
helplessly by while he struggled to utter words 
which were wholly unintelligible to Charles. 

At last they came, Frau Herman and Doctor 
Tomberg. Then all was done that skill or 
kindness could suggest, but the doctor looked 
grave, and said the symptoms were bad. 
Presently he went away, promising to return 
in a few hours. There was little for Charles 
or the housekeeper to do but watch and wait. 
From his soul he wished the attack had pro- 
duced unconsciousness. The terrible sight of 
a conscious and apparently agonized soul de- 
nied all utterance except through the restless, 
beseeching eyes, was almost more than he 
could bear. 


Their Children^ 


177 


Toward noon Herr Humbert seemed to fall 
asleep, and when Doctor Tomberg returned 
be spoke more hopefully. So strong a con- 
stitution might rally at least partially, and 
linger on a while yet. He told Frau Her- 
man that he had asked Margaret Liebnitz to 
come in during the afternoon. “If anybody 
can understand and comfort the poor Herr, . it 
is she,” he said. “Her tact and skill with the 
sick is beyond almost anything I ever saw.” 

The clocks of Leipsic had hardly sounded 
two hours past noon, when Frau Herman 
came to say that Fraulien Liebnitz had come. 

“ Shall I go away?” asked Charles. 

Herr Humbert suddenly opened his eyes, 
and looked up at him imploringly, trying to 
speak. 

“He wants you to stay. She won’t mind,” 
the Frau said, and went out directly to fetch 
Margaret. At sight of her Charles started. 
She was the same graceful woman he had 
seen on the street two days before. 

She did not seem to notice him, but went 
at once to the sick man, and bending over 
12 


178 


“ Their Children*^' 


him, said smilingly, “ May I stay a little while, 
Herr Humbert? Grandma sent me.” 

The sufferer moved his lips. She fixed her 
eyes on them. ‘‘ I didn’t quite understand,” 
she said, as if the fault was all her own. “I 
will be more careful if you will say it again.” 
He made another attempt, and she caught his 
meaning. 

“ Oh, thank you,” she said. “ I’ln glad you 
want me to stay.” 

Charles saw the look of intense relief that 
came into the sick man’s eyes when he found 
that she understood him. 

Again he tried to speak. “Tell the — ” 
she repeated, but lost the rest. Once more he 
made the effort, and again she said after him, 
“Tell the boy not — ” A third time he tried 
the sentence, and she caught the full mean- 
ing. “ Tell the boy not to leave me.” 

“ Is that right ? ” she asked, looking puzzled. 

“I think it is, Fraulien Liebnitz,” Franse 
said, coming from the distance to which he 
had retired on her entrance, and takinof Herr 
Humbert’s powerless hand in his. “ I am 
Charles Franse,” Then speaking to the Herr, 


“ Their Children.'*^ 


179 


lie added, “ I promise you, my dear sir, I 
will not leave you so long ^is you want me.” 

These words brought again the look of' re- 
lief into Herr Humbert’s eyes, and he said, 
“ Stay, both of you.” 

“ Yes, whenever you want me,” Margaret 
promised, adding, “ Now let us rest a little.” 

She sat down by the bedside, and while she 
gently chafed one poor hand, she sang in a 
low, sweet voice, — 

“ A gentle Angel walketh throughout a world of woe, 

With messages of mercy to mourning hearts below ; 

His peaceful smile invites them to love and to confide, 

Oh, follow in His footsteps, keep closely by His side ! 

“ So gently will He lead thee through all the cloudy day. 

And whisper of glad tidings to cheer the pilgrim-way ; 

Ills courage never failing when thine is almost gone. 

He takes thy heavy burden, and helps to bear it on. 

• 

“ He will not blame thy sorrows, while He brings the healing balm ; 
Ho does not chide thy longings, while He soothes them into calm; 
And when thy heart is murmuring, and Avildly asking why ? 
He, smiling, beckons forward, points upward to the sky. 

** He will not always answer thy questions and thy fear. 

His watchword is ‘ Be patient, the journey’s end is near ! ' 

And ever through the toilsome way. Ho tells of joys to come, 
And points the pilgrim to his rest, the wanderer to his home." 


The anxious eyes closed, and presently 


“ Their Children '^ 


m 

two big tears came forth, and rolled down 
the pallid face. If Margaret’s voice was less 
steady as she sang on, it was the only notice she 
took of them, and by and by Herr Humbeft 
slept again. 

Dr. Tomberg’s few directions were faith- 
fully carried out by the two young watch- 
ers, who with Frau Herman remained 
silently by the sick man till evening, when 
the physician again came in. This third 
visit seemed greatly to excite the patient. His 
efforts to speak were terrible to see, their 
very eagerness defeating the attempt. At 
last, Margaret, distressed beyond measure, 
because she failed to understand, exclaimed, 
“ Please, dear Herr, don’t try so hard. Make 
less effort. There, now I will get it this time.” 

His eyes seemed to glow with angry impa- 
tience, but he obeyed her, and ^he caught 
his meaning. 

“ He Avants a consultation of at least four 
of the best physicians in the city,” she said, 
addressing Dr. Tomberg. “He wants it at 
once, to-night.” 

“Very well, it shall be arranged as soon as 


“ Their Children^ 


181 


possible,” replied the doctor. Then he 
mentioned several names, from which Herr 
Humbert made his choice. 

“I will bring them to-night, if possible; if 
not, to-morrow early,” he said, as he turned 
to go. 

“ To-night, f:o-night,” urged the sick man 
eagerly. 

“ I promise you I will bring them in an hour, 
if I can find them,” he answered soothingly, 
and immediately went away. 

“ And now, dear Herr, you will not want me 
any more to-night,” Margaret said. “I will 
come back to-morrow.” 

“No, no, stay!” he implored, “nobody else 
can tell them what I want to say.” 

Thus urged, there seemed no alternative but 
to remain till after the consultation. Simon, 
the faithful servant, had just come from her 
grandmother to take her home ; and by him 
she sent back word how matters stood, saying 
that if he would return for her she would go- as 
soon as she could be spjired. Another long two 
hours dragged out their length, and at their end 
came the five doctors. ^ 


182 


“ Their Children, 


Margaret and Fran Herman withdrew to 
the supper-room, and waited for the consultation 
to end ; waited silently but for Frau Herman, 
who, impelled by a strong sense of hostess’ 
duty to entertain Margaret, yet having nothing 
to say, could only ejaculate, “Alas, that we 
should live to sec this day ! ” 

Margaret, despite her anxiety, would answer 
sweetly, if only by a pleasant smile, until at the 
end of a half hour, Charles opened the door 
and came in. 

“I am sorry, Fraulien Liebnitz,” he said, 
going up to her, “ to ask you to come among all 
these doctors, but Herr Humbert is almost 
frantic because they can’t understand him. 
Possibly you could get at his meaning, if you 
were there. Is it asking too much ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” she said, rising quickly. 
“Frau Herman will go with me,” and without 
more ado they went to the sick room. 

The doctors fell back as the young girl 
entered, .going straight to the bed-side, with 
a heightened color, but otherwise self possessed. 

The patient fixed his wild, excited eyes upon 
her, and bending every thought to the work, 


Their Children^ 


183 


she caught from his feeble lips, these words : 
“Tell ’em they are a pack of fools ! Five 
learned heads together, and can’t think of 
anything to help one sick man ! ” 

In spite of herself Margaret laughed out- 
right at the idea of giving this message to the 
group so anxiously waiting to discover their 
patient’s wishes : but feeling that mirth was 
singularly out of place, she turned gravely to 
Dr. Tomberg, saying, — 

“ The Herr is surprised that five so learned 
gentlemen as his physicians can think of so 
little for his relief.” Here she was again in- 
terrupted by the sick man’s efforts to speak. 
“ Tell ’em to read, and study, and search. 
Tell ’em there’s a remedy somewhere,” he 
made her comprehend. 

This she repeated verbatim, and Doctor 
Hoeber, an old man with very white hair and 
a benevolent face, came to the sick man, whose 
hand he took kindly in liis, saying, — 

“Be assured, my dear sir, we will each do 
our utmost to help you. Wo will read, study, 
search; but let us remember that the issues 
of life and death are in mightier hands than 


184 


“ Their Children,^' 


ours. Let us look to God.” He paused a 
moment, then added, Keep as calm as pos- 
sible, and try to sleep. Nothing is worse for 
you than excitement. Meantime be sure- we 
will do everything in our power.” 

Then they all went away. Dr. Tomberg only 
lingering to give some last directions. 

Herr Humbert fell asleep soon after, and 
Margaret, leaving Franse and the housekeeper 
watching beside him, went away to her grand- 
mother. 




CHAPTER XVI. 

HUS left to watch alone beside the 
patient, Franse’s weary but excited 
brain led him a very inconvenient 
round among his pet theories. 

Herr Humbert had been to him a living 
demonstration of the idea that each human 
soul is sufficient unto itself ; that from its 
unaided depths it can evolve all truth, all 
goodness, and reach its highest perfection and 
happiness. Even the varying moods to which 
this one was subject, seemed but necessary 
shadows making the brightness brighter by 
contrast. 

Yet here he lay a helpless thing in the iron 
grasp of a terrible disease. Not only a help- 
less, but a pitiful thing, for who could doubt 

185 



186 


Their Children^ 


that the soul looking out from those beseech- 
ing eyes was utterly void of support or com- 
fort in itself. It turned frantically for help 
even to a girl, to Margaret, and yet greater 
wonder, she surely met its wants better than 
any other. But why? Was it because she 
alone could understand the feeble tongue ? 
Was it her beauty, her gentleness? No, her 
soothing power lay deeper than either quick- 
ness, grace, or courtesy: it was soul power, 
but of what sort Franse could not tell. He 
only knew that Herr Humbert, with his mighty 
mind, five learned doctors, giving a faultless 
diagnosis, 3^et powerless to help, himself full 
of longing to relieve, had yet to give place 
to a woman as the best helper in this hour 
of great need. 

Alas, how many symmetrical theories have 
been undermined and overthrown by stubborn 
fact! With poor Herr Humbert before him 
it was hard to maintain a perfect belief in 
the absolute self-sufficiency of the human soul. 

From such contradictions as these he gladly 
escaped to thoughts of Madame Liebnitz and 
her granddaughter. How different was the 


“ Their Children.'*^ 


187 


latter from his preconceived notions of her. 
So far the moss-rose was plainer even than 
the mint. Her dress, though simple, was ar- 
ranged with an evident eye to beauty, both 
in shape and color. Her waving hair was 
caught tastefully about her well-formed head. 
In place of the coarseness he had been sure 
of finding, was a delicacy, almost a daintiness, 
in tone and manner that astonishsd him. 

She seemed as little soiled by contact with 
the poverty and dirt of courts and alleys, as 
does the stray sunbeam that wanders in to 
gladden their wretched inmates. 

Poor Charles ! Here fact . and theory clash 
again ! 

One thing at least was certain, — the night 
seemed very long, and the watcher was rejoiced 
when the city was again awake, and Frau Her- 
man came to say that breakfast was ready. 

Herr Humbert, being under the influence of 
a sleeping potion, had not spoken since the 
doctors left him ; but as Charles rose to give 
his place by the bed to the housekeeper, he 
opened his eyes, and said, with considerable 
distinctness, “Where are you going, boy?” 


188 


Their Children.'*^ 


“ Only to breakfast/' he replied. “ You are 
better this morning. I can’t tell you how glad 
I am.” 

“ What do you care ? ” the sick man said 
peevishly. “I’m good for nothing. Better 
throw me to the dogs.” 

“Excuse me, sir, the dogs can’t have you 
just yet,” Franse answered, laughing. “ We’re 
going to have you at your work again before 
long.” 

He lay silent for a moment, then muttered, 
“ Yes, they wiU find it. They can’t miss it. 
There must be a remedy somewhere.” 

Madam Liebnitz’s servant-man, Simon, came 
early to inquire for the patient, bringing 
word that liis young mistress could not return 
till afternoon, as she was greatly needed else- 
where ; but he would stay if he could be of any 
service. Charles gladly accepted this offer, 
as Simon was, from long practice, a skillful 
nurse, while he felt himself to be a perfect 
novice. 

Herr Humbert slept through the morning, 
waking at intervals to inquire if Margaret were 
come, or tighten his hold on that straw of hope, 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


189 


expressed in the repeated ejaculation, “ They 
will find it. It’s somewhere. The fools can’t 
miss it.” 

Dr. Tomberg was surprised at his patient’s 
improved articulation, and spoke hopefully. 

■“ Keep up your courage, Herr, we will have 
you round again, soon,” he said cheerfully. 
“You must give us a little time, you know, and 
help us, beside, by keeping free from excite- 
ment.” 

“ Are you doctors studying and searching 
with all your might after the cure ? ” demanded 
the patient. “ You promised^ and beside I am 
able to make it worth your while to hunt till 
you find it.” 

“You can understand that we doctors 
would search tiU we found it, if only in the 
interest of science, much more to prolong so 
valuable a life as yours, sir,” the doctor said 
earnestly. 

But outside the sick room, the beginning and 
end of instructions was, '-'-Keep him quiet 

“Is there any hope of recovery?” Franse 
asked. “ None whatever, I think,” replied Dr^ 
Tomberg. “ He may get able to leave his 


190 


“ Their Children^ 


bed, but his working days are over. How long 
he will live depends mainly on the strength 
of his constitution.” 

“ You see how he clings to the idea that 
somewhere there is a cure, and that it will 
be found?” 

The physician sighed. “ His case is perfectly 
plain,” he said. “If he knew medicine as 
he knows astronomy, he would see how little 
can be done for him. One of the trials of 
our profession is to be considered all power- 
ful to conquer some disease, before which 
we know ourselves to be almost helpless. 
After all, you and Margaret Liebnitz arc his 
best doctors, for you can keep him calm and 
cheerful.” 

Soon after dinner Margaret came, bringing 
a message from her grandmother, asking 
Charles to go to lier. 

“ The walk will do you good,” she urged, 
“You have had a trying time since yester- 
day morning. There is plenty of help with 
the Frau, Simon and myself. Go, now, and 
don’t come back for two hours at least.” 

Thus urged, the young man obeyed. He was 


“ Their Children.'*' 


191 


weary and unstrung, mind and body. The 
air and sunlight were reviving, and Madam 
Liebnitz, by daylight, was not one whit less 
charming than she was in the bright evening 
light, where he first saw her. 

“ I am glad you came,” she said cordially, 
when he was seated by her stately arm chair. 
“ Margaret said you looked worn, which is very 
true, and no wonder; the poor Herr must be 
a sad- sight, indeed.” 

“ He is ; and it is very distressing to watch 
by him, without the power of giving him 
relief. His disease seems to lie almost out- 
side of medical skill.” 

“And Margaret tells me he hopes strongly 
that some remedy will be found.” 

“ True ; yet I wonder at it in a mind so 
strong as his.” 

“ I am afraid there is less strength than 
you imagine,” Madame Liebnitz said gravely. 
“ Only he who is strong in the Lord^ can 
bear up bravely under such a ' calamity. In 
Herr Humbert we see the weakness of the 
human soul, when it stands unsupported on the 
brink of eternity. His, imprisoned in the castle 


192 


“ Their Children, 


of unbelief it has so laboriously built for 
itself, to which it has sacrificed its heaven-born 
instincts, now lies prostrate, surrounded by 
all that rare intellectual food on which it has so 
long feasted, yet starving for one morsel of 
the bread of life.” 

She paused, but Charles remained silent. He 
was pondering her words. 

Presently she went on, ‘‘ If, in place of 
the dismal, uncertain future, from which he 
shrinks with horror the nearer it approaches, he 
saw by the light of God’s word, a friend and 
Saviour ready to welcome him to a world where 
he would know as he is known, do you think he 
would manifest such agony at thought of going, 
such frantic eagerness to spend a few more years 
here in the shadow ? ” 

Still Franse made no answer. Was it true, as 
Madam Liebnitz said, that the human soul 
would stand trembling and aghast before the 
solemn change that sooner or later comes to all, 
unless, like a helpless child, it can feel about 
it the strong arm of a Divine protector? Was 
this its boasted self-sufficiency ? 

Madam Liebnitz saw the impression her 


Their Children,^ 


m 


words had made. She laid her hand kindly 
on the young man’s arm, and added, “To 
understand me fully, you have only to 
recall your father’s last days, in contrast 
with what you now sec. If ever a man was 
intellectually strong, it was he, both by nature 
and cultivation ; yet you well know this was not 
what sustained him under the burden of life, or 
gave him peace at the last. Ho was strong 
in the Lord. But I won’t prose any more,” 
she added, smiling. “ Let us talk of something 
else.” 

“ Not till I have asked one question, please, ” 
Charles said, speaking at last. “ Why is it that 
Miss Liebnitz can comfort the poor Herr so 
much better than the rest of us ? When she is 
by him, he is more quiet.” 

“I don’t know ; but my explanation is that 
she brings to him just what he most needs. 
Margaret is very strong in the strength we were 
just speaking of. I fancy she gives it out as the 
sun does heat. No doubt he feels tranquillized 
by it.” ■ . 

Charles neither quite understood nor believed 
this solution, but they soon drifted away 
13 , 


194 


Their Children.'*'* 


from the subject to others of more general inter- 
est. Finally, reminded of his bronze figure, by 
some remark of his hostess, he told her about it, 
asking permission to show it to her when he 
came again. 

He was sorry when his two hours’ leave came 
to an end, but he went back to his dreary home 
warmed by the genial, domestic atmosphere 
where they had been spent. 

He went also with many conflicting, remorse- 
ful thoughts. His conscience was stirred by the 
lofty piety Madam Liebnitz had so frankly 
expressed, but more by what she had said of his 
father. How absurd, he thought, for the son of 
such a man, a mere stripling in science and 
philosophy, to renounce as unworthy his cre- 
dence, that faith on which his father with 
all his varied learning had so devoutly leaned; 
in which he had spared no pains to instruct 
his son. Still his intellectual pride was very 
sensitive ; he could not be in leading strings, 
even to his own father. 

As he came near the half open door of 
Herr Humbert’s bed-room, he heard Margaret’s 
voice, soft, low, but very clear. She was read- 
ing aloud. He stopped to listen. 


“ Their Children.'^' 


195 


“ The eternal God is thy refuge, and under- 
neath are the everlasting arms.” She paused. 
It seemed to Charles as if an angel had 
spoken, so sweet, yet so solemn was her tone. 

“He hath made the earth by his power, he 
hath established the world by his wisdom, and 
hath stretched out the heavens by his discre- 
tion.” Again there was silence save for the 
rustling of leaves, as she turned them; but 
Charles stood where he was. 

“ The spirit of God hath made me, and the 
breath of the Almighty hath given me life.” 
Yet, “ He hath not dealt with us after our 
sins, nor rewarded us according to our iniqui- 
ties.” “ For God so loved the world, that he 
gave his only begotten Son that whosoever 
belie veth in Him should not perish, but have 
everlasting life.” 

Then he heard her close the book and begin 
singing one of her sweet German hymns. 

He would not interrupt her. He went 
away to Frau Herman, bidding her teU Miss 
Liebnitz that he was ready to resume his place 
beside Herr Humbert. 

Presently Margaret came to him in the 


196 


Their Children^ 


library. “You look refreshed,” she said, 
pleasantly. “ The rest has done you good. I 
am going home, now, but Simon will watch 
to-night, while you make up your sleep. Herr 
Humbert is willing, so don’t object, please,” 
seeing Charles about to remonstrate. “ I advise 
you to take care of yourself. If I am not 
mistaken, the poor Herr will make a heavy 
demand on your strength and patience, before 
the end comes.” 

“ I can bear it, with you for an occasional 
helper,” Franse said. 

“You must bear it, any way,” she said, 
with her sunny smile. “ However, I’ll help you 
all I can. Now, good-bye, and see that you 
make a long night of it.” 

When she disappeared, the young man 
remained for a little space, thinking how very 
sweet it was to hear again a womanly voice 
in kindly accents speaking something after the 
manner of his sister or Mabel. 

“How long must I banish myself?” he 
thought. “ When can I go home ? Not yet. 
I must be firm for her sake,” and so he went 
at once tO; the sick-room. 


“ Their Children, 


197 


The student’s eye lighted up at sight of 
him. “I’m glad to see you, boy,” he said, 
moving his right hand slightly, as if to extend it 
in welcome. Charles caught it eagerly ; it 
was the . first perceptible attempt at motion 
Herr Humbert had made since the attack. 

“ You will get over this. See how much you 
have improved already.” 

“I should if I knew medicine, and could doc- 
tor myself,” snarled the patient. “Those 
men don’t Imow what it means to study. I 
wonder what book Margaret was reading 
from?” 

“Wasn’t it the Bible?” Franse asked in 
surprise. 

“Perhaps so. Now I think of it, I’m sure 
it was. I haven’t seen one 'for years; not 
since your father went to America. I liked the 
sound. I wish we had one, so you could read 
to me.” 

Charles looked incredulously at the great 
scientist, as he stammered forth these words. 
It seemed impossible those sublime sentences 
could have made so little impression. He half 
believed the indifference was affected, to cover 


198 


“ Their Children,"*^ 


bis anxiety for more. He recalled wbat Madam 
Liebnitz had said of his soul being starved 
for a morsel of the bread of life, and he went to 
get his own Bible, neglected, to be sure, but 
dear, if only because Gretchen had. given it 
to him. 

Coming back, he sat down, and opened to the 
fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, for no special 
reason but because he had often read it to 
his father. 

Herr Humbert seemed to listen attentively. 
When Franse finished, he said, “That will 
do. I want to think.’’ * 

Presently the doctor came, bringing nothing 
but hopeful words. Then the patient was made 
ready for night, and having seen all things done, 
Charles left Simon to watch, while he went 
away to make a long night of it, as Margaret 
had bidden him. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Humbert 
end of a 
the help * 
:eeper, to 

reach. his arm-chair by the study window. But 
here the improvement ended. He was as 
helpless as a baby, needing even to be fed ; 
which sorely tried hij5 temper, naturally so 
self-reliant, and rendered him fretful and 
impatient. Charles gave him the dutiful atten- 
tion of a son ; but he was becoming very weary 
of the new life thus imposed on him, and but 
for Margaret’s influence, would hardly have 
borne it patiently. Her fr6sh, bright presence, 
her faultless dress, her gentle yet self-reliant 
ways, had a wonderfully sustaining effect on 
Franse. She came, however, to relieve him, 

190 



1^0 the surprise of all, Herr 
was so far recovered at the 
^ fortnight, as to be able, with 
of Charles and the house-1 


200 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


and so always sent him away for rest or 
recreation, so he made but little progress toward 
acquaintance,* after all. 

It was far different with Madam Liebnitz. 
With her he spent many pleasant hours, not- 
withstanding the dear old lady had a way of 
making him wonderfully dissatisfied with him- 
self. 

Was it because she took it for granted that 
the son of Herr Franse could not be other than 
right-minded in all moral. and religious truths, 
and so claimed his sympathy with her views 
in a confident way that half vexed, half .grati- 
fied liim? Or was it because he could never 
get courage to dissent from her opinions, thus 
giving her a false impression of his own ? Per- 
haps he was vexed because he often found 
himself wishing ha was all she thought him. 
But, after all, what was wanting? Nothing, 
if the books on Herr Humbert’s library shelves 
could be trusted. wV great deal, if the Bible 
spoke the truth, 

Meantime, Margaret was daily trying to pene- 
trate the prison of unbelief which confined the 
soul of the great scientist. She read her solemn 


“ Their Children.'*' 


201 


Bible words, and sang her sweet hymns with 
a cliild-like faith that sui-prised Franse. He 
wondered what possible good she expected 
thus to accomplish, forgetting “that the word 
of God is quick and powerful, and sharper 
than any two-edged sword, piercing even to 
the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and 
of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner 
of the thoughts and intents of the heart.” 

Herr Humbert always brightened when she 
came, always listened •while she read or sang, 
but gave no sign' that either went farther than 
the hearing of the ears. 

Thus matters went on, till one evening 
Simon came, as he often did, to pass the night 
with Herr Humbert. 

“Madam Liebnitz sends her regards, and begs 
you will go to her for a while,” he said to 
Franse. 

“ I will take the bronze,” he thought, 
something having heretofore prevented his 
carrying it. 

When he arrived, he was glad to find Mar- 
garet with her grandmother. 

“That is right. You have brought it at 


202 


Their Children'^ 


last,” said Madain Liebnitz, seeing the figure 
in 'his arms. 

“Will this- be a good place for it?” asked 
Margaret, making room on the center-table, 
underneath the strong light of the chandelier. 

Frj^nse thanked her, and set it down where 
he judged its beauty would be displayed to 
the best advantage. Then he stepped back 
to enjoy the admiration he was certain it 
would receive. 

Nor was he disappointed. Both ladies were 
enthusiastic in their praise. 

“But what does it represent?” ho asked. 
Neither answered at first. Then the fraulien 
looked up confidently, saying, — 

“It is Christian in the Pilgrim’s Progress.” 

“That can’t be,” Franse answered hastily. 
“Ilcrr Hhmbert said this was a very ancient 
work. Beside, so skillful an artist would 
hardly select such a subject.” 

“That may be,” she replied, without a 
shade of annoyance in her tone. “ Still it is 
very like my idea of Bunyan’s warrior.” 

“ Is there no inscription anywhere on it, 
giving some clue to its design?” asked Madam 
Liebnitz. 


Their Children^ 


203 


“Not that I can find,” Charles answered. 

“ Why, how heavy it is ! ” Margaret ex- 
claimed, taking it np, and resting the base on 
her hand. “What are these I feel?” and 
she turned the figure so the underside of the 
pedestal came into view. 

Franse took it from her, and after a close 
examination, said, “I believe they are screws 
that hold some of the parts together. Let us 
take them out and see what will come of it.” 

“ How strange you didn’t find them be- 
fore ! ” Margaret said. 

“Well, I don’t know; it never occurred to 
me to turn the thing upside down,” he re- 
plied, laugliing. 

“I suppose you consider my doing so an 
additional proof of feminine curiosity,” she re- 
turned, as she left the room to find something 
with which to start the screws. 

This was no easy matter, the screws being 
sunk beneath the surface in such a way that 
it was hardly possible to get hold of them. 
At last one yielded, and was carefully turned 
round and round, till suddenly something fell 
to the floor with a loud noise. All started, 


204 


“ Their Children.'*^ 


and began to search for the cause of alarm. 
Margaret was the first to. miss the center 
button of three that ornamented the figure on 
the left shoulder. In falling it left exposed 
a small round hole, from which the screw they 
were turning had just passed out. Presently 
the missing button ^was found, and proved to 
be a nut that when screwed on a slender 
rod reaching up from the^ base held it firmly 
in place. Judging that the center button of 
the right shoulder performed the same office 
as its mate, it was carefully removed, and, as 
they expected, another slender rod was set 
free, and drawn out. 

They then found that the bronze base was 
in two parts, one resting on the other, and 
only held together by the rods. The figure 
was fastened to the upper half, but as it was 
carefully lifted, it seemed to meet witlT some 
internal resistance. At last, however, Franse 
succeeded in disengaging it, when, to his 
amazement, as well as that of the others, an 
inner figure of dazzling whiteness came into 
view. It was of the finest Parian marble, 
and represented a warrior in complete armor. 


Their Children.^'* 


205 


The vizor of the helmet was raised, leaving 
the features exposed. They were exquisitely 
carved, and bore to the bronze face the same 
indescribable likeness sometimes seen between 
youth and age, or beauty and ugliness. 

In the strong light of the burners, they 
seemed transparent, spiritual, almost unearthly 
in their purity. A lion crouched upon the 
helmet in place of the dragon, so favorite a 
device with the early English knights. The 
left arm was raised, and bore a shield, having 
a cross in its center. The right hand grasped 
a sword half drawn from its sheath, wliich 
was bound upon the left thigh by a curiously 
wrought girdle, that encompassed the loins* 
The breastplate was elaborately carved, as 
were also the greaves. A serpent lay coiled 
on the marble pedestal, with its head beneath 
the warrior’s heel. 

It was plain to the three who stood silently 
gazing at this unexpected revelation, that they 
beheld no ordinary work of art. 

“It looks more like Bunyan’s Christian 
than ever,” Margaret said, with a roguish 
glauce at Charles, 


206 


“ Their Children^ 

He smiled, but shook his head as he bent 
down to examine the work more closely. 

“ There are letters among this scroll-work 
on the breastplate, but I can’t make out the 
words,” he said, turning to Margaret, “ perhaps 
you can.” 

She made no false pretense of fear, lest she 
should not succeed, when he had failed. “ I’ll 
try,” she simply said, and bent herself to the 
task. 

Almost immediately she looked up to 
Madam Liebnitz, who was watching her earn- 
estly. “ Grandma,” she asked, “ what are 
those verses in the last chapter of Ephesians, 
about the armor of God ? I think some of 
them are here, but the letters are so small, 
and hide away among the scroll-work so curi- 
ously, I can hardly find them.” 

“Do you mean ‘Be strong in the Lord, and in 
the power of His might ? ’ ” asked Madam Lieb- 
nitz. “Yes, and here th'ey are in the center. 
Just see, Herr Franse, how the letters wind 
round and round from the middle of the 
breastplate to its outer edge.” 

Charles looked where the tapering finger 


“ Tlieir Children 


207 


pointed, and followed it with his eyes, while his 
ear took in the words she read. “Be strong in 
the Lord, and in the power of his might. 
Put on the whole armor of God, that yo may be 
able to stand against the wiles of the devil. 

“Stand, therefore, having your loins girt 
about with truth, and having on the breastplate 
of righteousness, and your feet shod with the 
preparation of the gospel of peace. Above all, 
take the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be 
able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked, 
and trjke the helmet of salvation, and the sword 
of the spirit, which is the word of God.” 

“Why, this reminds one of that beautiful 
temple your father prized so much,” said 
Madam Liebnitz, as Franse turned away, vexed 
and disappointed at finding how .near Marga- 
ret came to the truth in her guess at what 
the bronze meant. 

• “ The thought here is hardly as plain as 
it was in that,” he replied. “ I confess 
I don’t get at tliis at all.” 

“Doesn’t the idea of an inner and an outer 
mai?, explain it ? ” Margaret asked a little 


V 


208 


Their Children,^ 


timidly. “Isn’t that why there is such a 
curious likeness between the marble and 
the bronze ? Doesn’t one represent the soul, 
the other the body, and both united an earnest 
Christian soldier ? ” . 

“Yes, dear, I think you have solved the 
riddle,” Madam Liebnitz said, gazing fondly 
at the eager young face now in a glow of admira- 
tion for the unknown artist, and pious sympathy 
with his design. 

Charles said nothing. This gem both of 
bronze and of marble, would no longer be a 
mere art work, stirring his ke^n sense of the 
beautiful. Henceforth it would appeal to an 
entirely different set of emotions — emotions 
that it- was not pleasant, in the present state 
of his thoughts, to have aroused. ' 

Thinking thus, he t6ok hold of the statue, for 
the purpose of moving it where he could more 
easily slip the bronze back in place, when the 
marble block on which it rested came out* 
from the bronze base in which it was sunk, 
leaving a space beneath in which was a folded 
paper. He took it up, and carefully spread 
it out on the table, the ladies meanwhile watch- 


“ Their Children^ 


209 


ing him eagerly, as he ran his eye along the 
faded lines. 

“ This is the strangest thing that ever came to 
pass ! ” he exclaimed. “ You spoke just now of 
my father’s temple, and here is another piece 
of work from the same hand, in possession 
of his son ! ” 

“ Do you mean to say that Santo Lombardo 
made this ? ” cried Madam Liebnitz. 

“ It seems so, at least, in part. If you 
please, I will read this aloud.” 

“ Oh, do ! ” exclaimed Margaret, and he 
began, — 

“ ‘ I am Antonio, Santo Lombardo’s friend. 
Dear to me as my own soul, was this brave 
Christian hero. He fought not with foes, under 
the free sky, but with those that lurked in 
every corner of his solitary dungeon. 

“ ‘ We were artisans. He was a sculptor, I, a 
worker in metals. In Rome, our native city, 
we were employed by the Emperor among his 
choicest workmen. 

‘“We were happy; Lombardo in his sweet 
young wife and two fair children, and I in 
14 


210 


“ Their Children^ 


him who was to me in place of all earthly 
kindred. 

“ ‘ We were Christians, holding our forbidden 
faith in secret, for fear of those horrors that had 
overtaken so many of our brethren ; yet Lom- 
bardo dreaded them less for himself than for 
those who were dearer to him than life. He 
was of a bold, impetuous spirit and could ill 
endure the scoffs and taunts with which our 
heathen companions were wont to speak of 
our divine leader, Jesus of Nazareth. Oft 
times I trembled, when, forgetting all pru- 
dence, he flung back upon them words of 
lofty rebuke, that for the time never failed to 
awe them into silence. 

“ ‘ By nature timid and worldly-wise, I 
shrank from the consequences he might thus 
bring upon himself and all his house. I pleaded 
with him most earnestly, I besought him to 
consider before it was too late. He heard me 
patiently, and always promised greater care, 
yet I knew in my heart he felt only contempt 
for my weak timidity. At last what I had so 
long feared befell him. Having given a stern 
but merited rebuke to one Leonardo, an under 


'‘'‘ Their Children, 


211 


workman, for great carelessness in the doing 
of an important task, revenge led him to de- 
nounce Lombardo before the tribunal as a 
Christian. 

“‘Suddenly, without warning, the cloud burst 
upon us. The one on whom our earthly love 
centred, was torn from us, and thrown into 
a dungeon, there to await his doom. From 
the first stupor of our despair we awoke to 
the most agonizing dread lest at any moment 
Lombardo should be fiung to wild beasts in 
the amphitheater, or burned with fire, or killed 
with the sword. 

“ ‘ But as weeks dragged on, and none of 
these things came to pass, we became more 
calm. Hope began to rise. Possibly being 
only an artisan, our noble Lombardo would 
be forgotten; so his wife and little ones hid 
away from the sight of men, lest they should 
bring to mind the captive they so loved, and 
thus hasten his destruction. 

“ ‘ Prayers, tears, groans, were poured in 
secret at the feet of Him for whose dear sake 
Lombardo suffered, while back into our hearts 
flowed many a sweet drop of comfort and 


212 


“ Their Children, 


peace. I made Lombardo’s family my care, 
and so the first year passed, bringing no tid- 
ings of him we loved. Then we learned by 
accident his place of confinement. It was 
within the city. Feeling our way cautiously, 
we at last discovered that we could see him, 
with little risk either to him or ourselves. As 
we hoped, he seemed to have been forgotten. 
At last we grew bold, and went often to his 
cell. Oh, the unutterable joy of these meet- 
ings ! Ever cheerful, he sustained our droop- 
ing spirits. Prisoner though he was, we 
leaned upon him as in the old days when he 
was free. 

“‘During the second year of his imprison- 
ment, he conceived the idea of the temple, 
upon which he worked till the close of his 
mortal life. None but he could have met and 
conquered the manifold difficulties that hin- 
dered the execution of this design. But his 
determination never wavered. Captive though 
he was, his skill must contrive a way for the 
expression of his burning love to Christ. But 
for this, methinks, he would sooner have yielded 
to the hardships of his prison life, for scarcely 


Their Children,'*^ 


213 


was the work finished when death set his spirit 
free. 

“‘We were with him toward the close of 
that last day. We had seen him put the last 
delicate strokes upon the marble. He was wan 
and pale almost like a spectre, but the peace 
of God sat on lip. and brow, and shone in his 
clear dark eye. At parting he held his wife 
and children long in his embrace, and when 
I grasped his hand, he whispered, “ God bless 
you, Antonio. Care still for these precious 
ones.” 

“ ‘ We never heard his voice again, nor did 
we see the temple more, neither could we 
learn who took it from the cell; but the 
memory of my noble friend, and of his rare 
work, never left me. I longed to imitate his 
example, to compel from my God-given talent 
some lasting tribute to him I love. 

“ ‘ The thought grew stronger with each day, 
until I spoke of it to Marcia, Lombardo’s wife. 
“ Oh, for his skiU in working marble ! ” I ex- 
claimed. “Then I would fashion an inner 
and an outer man, a Christian pilgrim with the 
spirit of a Christian knight, clad in the armor 
of GocL” 


214 


Their Children^ 


“‘“Will this help you?” she asked, bring- 
ing from an inner chamber a figure cut in 
Parian marble, as only Lombardo could do it. 

“ ‘ “ Why have I never seen this before ? ” 
I cried, jealous that any of my friend’s work 
had been hid from me. 

“Because he thought ta keep it till some 
fiery persecution overtook you ; then he would 
give it you and bid you be strong in the Lord, 
as he would have you.” 

“‘“When did he carve it?” 

“ ‘ “ Before he went to prison.” 

“ ‘ “ May I have it now ? ” 

“ “‘You may. He made it for you. Here 
is the soul; it only wants a pilgrim’s body.” 

“ ‘ I took it ; and as time and chance permit- 
ted, made for it a covering of bronze. I have 
brought to it all the skill of which I am master, 
but when was Antonio’s work fit to stand beside 
Lombardo’s, much less to hide it ! Yet have 
I done my best. And now, O Lord, accept the 
labor of my hands. Let it help some feeble 
soul to fix his eye on heaven, and “press 
toward the mark for the prize of the high 
calling of God, in Christ Jesus.” 


“ Their Children*^^ 


215 


“ ‘ Let Lombardo’s work, the inner man, help 
it to put on the whole armor of God, that it 
may be strong in Thee, and in the power of 
Thy might.’ ” 

When the reading was finished, Franse slowly 
folded up the paper and put it back in its place . 
The ladies saw he was deeply moved, and 
neither spoke. He took up the marble to set 
it again in the bronze base, but paused to exam- 
ine the girdle. 

“ Did you notice this rose which seems to 
hold the belt in place ? ” he asked, speaking 
to Margaret. “ It is perfectly exquisite, but 
it-seems out of place on armor, does’nt it ? ” 

“ Isn’t it emblematical ? ” she returned. 

“Of what?” 

“ Of the Saviour, just as is the lion on the 
helmet.” 

Madam Liebnitz saw the look of perplexity 
this explanation left on the young man’s face. 

“You know,” she said “he is spoken of 
in the Bible as the Lion of the tribe of 
Judah, and also as the Rose of Sharon.” 

“ Oh, yes. I get the idea now,” he said, 


216 


“ Their Children,'*' 


half impatiently. The whole thing was a disap- 
pointment. He was vexed that an art work 
which so compelled his admiration, should 
side with his conscience and force upon him a 
subject from which he shrank, and about 
which he tried to fancy he didn’t care. 

But the evening was far spent, and pres- 
ently he covered the pure white marble with its 
dark shell, slipped back and secured the slender 
rods, said good-night, and went home. 

Herr Humbert was sleeping quietly, so hav- 
ing made sure that his comfort was secured 
for the night, Charles went to bed, leaving 
the bronze on the library table. 

He no longer wanted it where it would 
meet his eye on waking. He wanted to forget 
it, the beautiful, curious, condemning thing! 
But he could easier shut it out of his room than 
out of his thoughts. Helmet of salvation ! 
Sword of the Spirit! Gospel of peace! The 
words kept sounding themselves over and over 
ii; his ear, conveying little meaning to his mind, 
and irritating him all the more for that very 
reason. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

,s)^feAD Charles known what was passing at 
pM y Eau Claire, he might more easily have 
dismissed the bronze from his mind. 

We left baby Jennie standing in the 
parlor door. We- find her in mamma’s bed, 
no longer rosy and plump, but wan and pale. 
Her serious eyes are larger than ever, 
and full of the suffering that has wasted her 
little roly-poly body. 

Papa Ned sits by with one tiny hand in his 
big palm, while with the other he strokes 
Lottie’s curly head, as it rests on liis knee, she 
having thrown herself on the floor beside him in 
a fit of passionate crying. Dr. Allison is also 
by, and holds Jennie’s other hand. Every now 

217 


218 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


and then he smiles down at her, saying tenderly, 

“ Good girl ! Brave little lady.” and kindred 
words, that make the poor little face wreath 
itself in poor little smiles. 

“And is that the only way out of it. Doc- 
tor ? ” Granger asked, liis face full of the pain ♦ 
that wrung his heart. 

“ I’m afraid so. I was sure of it before the 
consultation.” 

“What ’oil ’faid of?” Jennie asked. “I 
isn’t ’faid of nosin tause papa Ned tome,’\ 
and she tried to turn toward him, but cried 
out with pain, at the movement. 

Lottie sprang to her feet with a shai*p cry, 
and ran out of the room exclaiming, — 

“ I can’t bear it ! I can’t bear it I ” 

Mabel, who had been standing by a distant 
window,' followed her. 

“ Poor Lottie ! ” Granger ejaculated, brushing 
his hand hastily across his eyes, “She suifers 
almost as much as Jennie.” 

. “Far more, I think,” Allison replied. 

Just then a colored woman entered, with sup- 
per for the little one. She was fat, though 
far from clumsy, and her black face shone 


Their Children,'*^ 


219 


with a benevolent good humor that vailed the 
natural keenness of her bright eyes. 

“See here, honey, what dis ’ole aunty got,” 
she said, coming to the bed. “ Now we’ll have 
suthen nice, and a story all ’bout them chillen, 
you knows. You go ’way, doctor,” she went 
on, pretending to push him aside. “I Avants 
dis yere chile. And papa Ned may go too. 
He’s tired, and mamma wants him a spell. 
By’m by he may come back.” 

Jennie looked but half pleased with this 
arrangement, but when papa Ned kissed her and 
promised to come back very soon, and Allison 
bid her go to sleep like a good girl, so he could 
tell her a beautiful story when he came in the 
morning, she let them depart Avithout protest, 
save a pitiful little sigh that sounded like a 
smothered sob. 

“I don’t understand, yet, hoAV this accident 
happened,” Granger said, as he and the doctor 
entered the parlor and sat down. 

“ The man took the grind-stone out of the 
frame, and leaned it against the tool-house,” 
Allison replied. “It could not have been set 
very close, to be sure, or the poor child could’nt 
have crept behind it.” 


220 


“ Their Children,'* 


“ I don’t see what possessed her to do it.” 

“ Childhood possessed her. No doubt, to her 
little mind, that space between the stone and 
the wall, looked as tempting as some of those 
tight places into which we men sometimes crawl 
do to us ; places where we get worse hurt even 
than she did. The wonder is she wasn’t killed 
outright. Let us be thankful she only brought 
down the heavy stone on her poor little knee, as 
she crept out, and not on- her head as she 
crept in.” 

“ But, doctor, the idea of amputation is 
horrible I ” 

“So it is. Granger, but the idea of death is 
worse ! ” 

“ Has it surely come to that ? ” 

•“It has. We have done everything possible 
to save the leg. Now the sooner she is relieved 
of it, the sooner her suffering will end, and 
she be at liberty to grow well, and strong, 
again.” 

“But, doctor, how can Lottie bear it? 
Just think of her baby maimed for life ! ” 
Granger said, looking up at Allison with an 
expression of helpless agony that was pitiful 


“ Their Children,'^ 


221 


,to see. “If it was only me, I could bear it 
without flinching; but the worst of it comes 
on those two helpless tilings, and I can’t save 
them.” 

“ It is hard, Granger. I understand your dis- 
tress, but don’t make it worse than it 
is. You will still have your child, and her very 
misfortune will endear her to you a hundred 
fold. Beside,” he went on very earnestly, “I 
don’t believe in accidents. This has been 
permitted with a purpose. God intends it to 
effect something. Let us be patient, and trust 
One who never makes a mistake; One who 
always works for our highest happiness, 
no matter how it looks to us. Tliis has a bright 
side, though now we can’t see it.” 

“ I wish Lottie could think so. But when 
must the thing be done ? ” 

“To-morrow, before Dr. C returns to 

New York. If you consent he will stay till 
afternoon, and perform the operation himself.” 

“Very well, let him do so,” Granger said. 

Allison took up his hat to go, but still 
lingered. 

“ I wish I could persuade you to take a more 


222 


Their Children.^'* 


cheerful view of this, if only for sake of your, 
wife,*’ he said. 

“I’ll try,” Granger replied, with a feeble 
attempt at a smile. 

“ That’s right,” the doctor said, giving his 
hand a hearty grasp, and going away to arrange 
for the morrow. 

Presently Granger got up and went to find 
Lottie. She was lying on the lounge in the 
library, her face hid in the pillows. He knelt 
down, and put his arms about her. He v/anted 
to tell her about that bright side Allison had 
spoken of, but he knew, looking into his own 
heart, that to her there could be nothing bright 
about it. She could see some shades of differ- 
ence between the blackness of losing their 
darling altogether, and keeping her on the hard 
terms that alone remained. This was all. 

Poor Lottie I The happy, dancing flow of 
her life had suddenly fallen into a dark pool of 
sorrow, where it wildly beat about in its 
anguish, finding no outlet into the deeper, 
calmer channel, where it would presently 
sparkle in the brightness we can always see 
reflected in the glass of God’s perfect love 


“ Their Children^ 


I 

223 


for ns,, if we but fix the eyes of our faith stead- 
fastly upon it. * 

Into this "lass, the black aunty was looking, 
when she came to tell Lottie that Jennie was 
begging for mamma. 

“ O Missus, ’twont never do to take on dis 
way ! ” she said, as she heard the unsub- 
missive words Lottie uttered between her 
sobs. ‘‘You’s got a Father lubs you a heap 
more’n you lub your poor little chile ! Bress 
your heart, how drefful He must feci to hab 
to hurt you so! S’posc He’d do it ift could 
be helped? We’s had to do some terrible hard 
things to our poor little lamb, jus’ try in’ to 
cure her. ’Twas ’cause we lubed her we did 
’em. Mebbe the blessed Lord sees that the 
devil’s fixed a great stone so it’s fell 
outer one of the legs of your precious soul, 
and hurt it so you can’t get to Him, and He*s 
tryin’ to cure it. It hurts awful, I know, 
but you jus’ be patient, and let him work. 
Now, honey, jus’ you lie still in His hands, 
and stop a cry in’, and come and comfort your 
baby.” 

Perhaps it was less the matter of old Han- 


224 


“ Their Children.'*' 


nah’s than its manner, so full of 

hearty sympathy, that had its effect on 
Lottie. She grew calmer, and presently went 
back to her suffering child. Tlie little one 
put up her two little hands and patted the 
dear face that tried to smile as it bent over 
her. 

“ I loves ’ou busel,” she said. “ Peas laugh 
and be pitty, mamma. It make Jennie’s leg 
ache w’en ’ou Id.” 

That was a long night to everybody in 
the cottage. Jennie was suffering and rest- 
less, but wonderfully patient for a baby with 
not three years’ experience of life. Neither 
papa Ned nor Lottie left her. Mabel and 
Gretchen came and went, getting no rest. 
Blakemere was the only one who slept, for 
the dread of to-morrow kept even Elra awake. 

Of the three who looked above, . and 
beyond, she was one ; Gretchen and black 
Hannah the others. Each in their way pleaded 
earnestly for strength and consolation to descend 
on the sufferers, who looked only at the present 
anguish, seeing in it no love. 

The next morning Allison came early. After 


“ Their Children'' 


225 


much argument he persuaded the parents to 
lea'\re their little one entirely in his care. “ You 
know I will watch over her exactly as if she 
were mine,” he urged. “ You can do no 
good. The only effect of your presence will be 
to wring your hearts,' and ours, too, knowing 
what you suffer.” 

So they yielded, letting Allison go alone to 
his little friend and patient. 

The child brightened when she saw him. 

“How’s Jennie?” he asked, sitting down 
by the bed. 

“ I’s tired,” she said wearily. 

“Tired of that naughty leg, I guess,” he 
replied. “ Don’t you want me to carry it 
off, and then you can get up and go out of 
doors.” 

“ Will ’ou? ” she asked eagerly, then added in 
a changed tone. “ ’ Ou tan’t det it off. It 
towed on tight.” 

“Yes I can. I’ll rip out all the stitches, 
as mamma did on that dolly that burned her 
foot, and then dear little Jennie will get 
well, and be a happy little girl again.” 

“ I des that’ll be pi tty nice,” she said, with 

15 


226 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


a sigh. “ I was clood gird all night, ’tause papa 
Ned ’mended me. Peas tell me toiy.” 

“ I’m going to ; the best one I can think 
of,” Allison said, pouring ether on a sponge, and 
holding it so as slowly to affect the child, 
while he kept her attention by the story. He 

heard Dr. C below, and knew the time 

had come. Presently the baby said, speaking 
thick, “I deth I’th doin’ to stheep.” The 
weary eyes closed, and the little sufferer knew 
no more, till Allison had fulfilled his promise, 
till the stitches were all ripped out, and -she was 
once more started on the road to health. 

Of course it was a weary road, that to Lottie, 
was like walking among sharp thorns that 
constantly pierced her with fresh wounds. 

The very feeling of the little maimed body 
as it rested on her lap, almost drove her wild 
with anguish. It was long before she could 
be induced to look on the remains of what was 
once so round and plump and beautiful. 
But Hannah, with the intuitive skill so pecu- 
liar to her simple but devout race persuaded her 
thus, — 

“You musn’t feel that way, honey, least- 


“ Their Children^ 


227 


ways you niusn’t give up to’t. ’Tain’t our 
feelins’, but totlier folks, we must think on. 
That’s the way the blessed Jesus shew 
us. Whar’d we ben now, d’ye s’pose, if He’d 
said, ‘I can’t do this and I can’t do that.’ 
He went right ’long, and did what He saw 
we poor sinable creeturs needed. ’Twan’t no 
matter how He felt, nor what He suffered. 
’Twas all the time our pain, none of the time 
His pain He was tryin’ to help. Now you’s 
got to suffer a heap with this poor little creetur, 
but you musn’t stop to think nothin’ ’bout that, 
jus see what you can do ter help her.” 

And as infinite love led on to infinite self- 
sacrifice, so the mother love in Lottie’s heart, 
set in the right waj' by these homely words, 
led her up to a plain of self-forgetfulness, of 
which before she had no idea. Standing on 
it, she began faintly to discern the meaning 
of sentences with whose sound she had been 
familiar all her days. 

“Surely He hath borne our griefs, and 
carried our sorrows. He was wounded for 
our transgressions. He was bruised for our 
iniquities.” 


228 


Their Children,^’' 


This marvelous story, of which her Bible 
was so full, began to blossom into a living truth, 
and take hold of her heart • as a verity, 
in which she had a personal concern. But what 
had the poor little crushed knee, the pitiful 
little stump to do with it ? Why had the old 
black aunty’s preaching more effect on the 
young mother, than the pulpit eloquence 
to which she had listened all her previous life ? 

Who can explain the mystery of that 
eternal life-germ so often sent to us wrapped 
up in sorrow? How strange that through the 
dark portal of this terrible anguish, Lottie’s 
soul should pass to the green pastures and 
still waters, where is peace. Yet so it was. 
Not suddenly, but slowly, little by little, 
drawn gently and guided by aunt Hannah’s sim- 
ple words, to which she loved to listen as 
together they tended baby Jennie. Gretchen, 
too, who knew by heart, the choicest promises 
and bits of comfort all along God’s words, 
delighted to read them over and over, for the 
old black nurse, who, unable to read herself, 
drank in their sweetness, with an ecstacy of 
refreshment known only to hungry souls. 


“ Their Children.'*'* 


229 


Since the accident, the inmates of the cot- 
tage had been absorbed in their concern for 
baby Jennie and her parents. For a time, 
their own peculiar troubles had been put in 
the back-ground. Nevertheless, they still ex- 
isted in full force. 

Since Conrad Werner’s death, Blakemere’s 
moodiness had become almost savage. The 
sight of Dr. Allison seemed to exasperate him. 
Indeed, he avoided him as h^ would a pesti- 
lence, in which endeavor the doctor seemed 
ready to aid him in every possible way, though 
from the force of circumstances, as well as from 
a rapidly growing interest in some of its in- 
mates, he was much at the cottage. 

It was becoming plain to all, that Gretchen 
was very far from well. Her strength was 
failing. The spiritual look in her sweet face, 
was daily growing more apparent, and with it 
her gentle forbearance toward her wayward hus- 
band. The happiest moments of her life seemed 
those spent in reading the frequent letters 
that came to her from Charles. They were 
always full of the old love ; they told the 
incidents of his daily life, but there was 


230 


“ Their Children^ 


never any lifting of the vail that hid — what 
she could not guess. And this, together with 
the grievous change in Philip, was literally 
undermining her very life. 

Mabel still bore her burdens, in the pride 
of her unsubdued heart, out of which came fre- 
quent petulance, and scorn for all but Gretchen 
and poor Lottie, whom she now cherished Avith 
almost a mother’s devotion. Even tOAvard papa 
Ned, Avhose nature on its domestic side, Avas 
full of a blundering tenderness that led him 
constantly into doing the kindest things, at 
the very “ wrong-est ” times, she could not 
always conceal the A^exation he excited. The 
only person who ahvays soothed her, toward 
Avhom the loveliest side of her character seemed 
involuntarily to turn itself, Avas Dr. Allison. 
But Avhy did he bring the jangle and discord 
of her being into harmon}^ ? What key-note 
did he strike to Avhich all else Avas tuned ? Was 
it not simply love, Avhich Avhen extended till 
it embraces God and all our race, becomes the 
fulfilling of the law? 



CHAPTER XIX. 

r was one of June’s loveliest clays, when 
baby Jennie was first laid in the dainty 
carriage built for her by Granger’s order. 
With his own hand he drew her about 
the lawn, while Lottie went by her side, and 
Dash, now just in the leanness and length of leg 
peculiar to canine youth, bounded on before. 
Now ho would stop to bark frantically at 
some innocent bird high up among the leafiness 
overhead, and then frisk back, only to bound 
away again, in obedience to some nev/ impulse 
of his dumb soul. 

Jennie never tired of watching his gambols. 
She now lay laughing merrily, as he came 
bounding toward her, with a bit of rag in his 
moilth, which he shook and tossed in }ns glee till 
he seamed the very personification of fun 

231 



232 


Their Children.'*^ 


and frolic. Suddenly he stopped and gazed 
earnestly at the group who had halted under 
the shade of a large elm. 

His dark eyes grew soft and sad ; his 
silken ears dropped, and his whole attitude 
expressed the new mood that possessed him. 
Dropping his rag, he trotted demurely to the 
carriage, and began to lick the little hand put 
out to pat his dappled coat. Then, as if this 
did not fully express his feelings, he rested his 
paws on the side of the wagon, with a low 
whine, and began smelling of the little skirt un- 
der the lovely blue of whose folds the poor 
little remains of a leg lay liid. Then he 
tried to kiss the sweet face ; but Jennie, not en- 
joying such endearments, pushed him off 
exclaiming, — 

“ Do ’way, Dash ! I’s itte gird. ’Ou’s a 
dord. ’Ou musn’t tiss anybody but dords ! ” 

Thus repulsed, the poor fellow fell back on 
his haunches, and putting his brown head dis- 
consolately on one side, let one long ear hang 
out, and wave slowly in the summer wind, while 
he vainly tried to comprehend the relative 
propriety of hand and face kissing for dogs. 


“ Their Children,^'* 


233 


A day or two before he had accidentally been 
present while Jennie’s leg was being dressed. 
His curiosity was highly excited. He evidently 
understood that something was wrong, and 
this idea whenever it recurred to him, drew 
forth most tender and affectionate demonstra- 
tions toward her. 

Of course these moods were evanescent, 
as in the present case ; for seeing a large, 
majestic cat walking in stately fashion down 
the gravel path. Sir Dash, with inconsiderate 
haste, and it is to be feared, in a spirit 
of roguery that often led him to grief, ap- 
proached her. He never quite understood 
how it came about, but in a trice Grimalkin was 
on his back, and the poor dog’s head long 
bore the marks of her sharp claws. He 
never again attempted to trifle with this old and 
respectable inmate .of the family. Henceforth, 
when duty or inclination led him past her, 
he crept along with head and tail depressed, and 
his body bowed, the concave side toward her, 
thankful, if possible, to escape a repetition 
of that first and Avell remembered lesson. 

If he avenged himself, and asserted his 


234 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


superiority to the average feline nature, 
by unmercifully chasing and worrying the 
“.Squash,” a timid, yellow cat, over whom even 
Grimalkin delighted to tyrannize, can he not find 
justification by pointing to many a man and 
woman who do precisely the same thing ? 

Having outgrown his babyhood, and with it 
many of his troublesome habits, he was now 
living at the cottage until he could be 
taken to his western home. Granger was 
highly delighted with this gift of Lot- 
tie’s, and but for the pleasure it gave baby 
Jennie, would now have taken it back with 
him. Indeed, it was his wish to take both 
mother and child, but Allison would not hear to 
his little patient leaving the pure air and charm- 
ing surroundings of Eau Claire, till she was 
entirely well. So Granger tried to submit 
cheerfully to whatever was best for his dar- 
ling, though it seemed hard to endure any 
longer, the loneliness of his home. Poor Lottie 
also had a severe struggle before she could 
patiently bear to let him go back alone. Yet by 
what seemed so heavy a trial as the accident 
to their child, together with the thousand 


“ Their Children 


235 


acts of self-sacrifice it involved, they were being 
gradually lifted to a plane of self-control and 
cheerful acceptance of the inevitable, about 
which, they had before known very little. 
Their trouble had already begun to show its 
hidden brightness. It was making them perfect 
through that suffering which so often brings 
spiritual health, though how, the great Physi- 
cian only knows. 

“Now, Lottie, don’t let Dash get the up- 
per hands of you,” Granger said, the morning 
he left. “ If you can’t manage him, ask Blake- 
mere to help you.” 

“Poor old fellow,” she said, patting him, 
as hearing his name, he sprang up and came 
to them. “ Pie will be good.” 

Alas, for woman’s faith ! 

Every night he was attended to his kennel 
and put to bed by bab}^ J ennie, before she could 
content herself to go to sleep. Of course Sir 
Dash well knew it was a mere ceremony, yet he 
laid himself down with great Jipparent sleepi- 
ness, received Jennie’s, “Dood night, dordy,” 
and her last loving pat, with half shut eyes, and 
then waited quietly till she was fairly out 


236 


Their Children"'' 


of sight on her way to bed, when he would 
spring up with a shake that settled both skin 
and collar, and go cither to the parlor, library 
or music-room, to join the family until a 
proper bed-time for dogs and men. 

With no one in the house was he a greater 
favorite than with poor Blakemere. We say 
poor Blakemere, because hardly another being 
could have been found who seemed more 
wretched than did he. Only with the dog 
did he seem to find relief. 

When the business of the day was over, 
he would ramble with him for hours among 
the wooded hills that surrounded the town. He 
also taught him many tricks with which in 
his less moody tempers he loved to amuse 
the ladies of his household. Indeed, Dash 
had become his chosen, almost his only compan- 
ion. Even his love for music seemed gone. 
The times when he and Gretchen sang together, 
were now rare indeed. 

This was perhaps owing to the protest always 
entered by Dash , to any attempt of the kind. 
No dread of punishment could prevent him 
from uttering an accompaniment of the most 


Their Children,^^ 


237 


dismal howls. It was in vain to punish him. 
Even with the rod ready to descend on his 
devoted skin, the striking of notes, the sound of 
a singing voice had a mysterious power to draw 
from him doleful cries which he seemed power- 
less to resist. Various ways were proposed to 
coax or compel him to keep silence, but they all 
failed, and finally when he saw the trial ap- 
proaching, he would escape to some distant spot 
on the grounds, from whence his melancholy 
wailing came back to mingle faintly with 
the harmony. 

• Whether this unconquerable peculiarity was 
rooted in musical taste or distaste, nobody could 
tell. Blakemere often longed to penetrate 
the dog’s mind, if he had one, to understand his 
thoughts, to hear him put in words the emotions 
so evident in his bright eyes and expressive 
actions. Indeed, everybody considered Dash as 
a privileged member of the household. He 
had his favorite corner on the sofa or seat in the 
easy-chair of every room. His chosen resting- 
place was by Jennie, on the bed, to wliich 
she always welcomed him with loving words, 
and pats of delight. He sat by at every meal, 


238 


“ Their Children,'*' 


eagerly watching the choice bits he was cer- 
tain to get sooner or later. If kept too long 
in suspense, one paw came modestly upon the 
corner of the table by Blakeinere’s plate. If 
this failed to attract his attention, the other was 
added, and a minute more of waiting was 
sure to be followed by an imperative rap with 
paw number one, which generally set everybody 
laughing, and gained his point. 

He was fond of slipping his collar at night, 
thus escaping from the chain that fastened him 
in his kennel. ike manV'^nother gifted being, 
he loved to view .the landscape in the early 
dawn light, especially when flocks were abroad 
upon the hills. 

He delighted to assist them in taking that 
matitudinal exercise in v/hich he himself de- 
lighted. In the benevolence of his heart, he 
often urged them into running races with him, 
solely for their good, no doubt, but like many 
another philanthropist, his motives were im- 
pugned, not alone in the minds of the sheep 
themselves, but by their owners. 

In the middle of a summer forenoon, he was 
resting from his benevolent exploits upon the 


Their Children'^ 


239 


lawn, when a big, burly man, with bushy whisk- 
ers, appeared upon the scene, and spying Lottie, 
with lier baby, on the piazza, he bade her a civil 
“ Good morning.” 

“ Is that ’are dog yourn ?” he asked. 

“Yes, sir,” she. replied promptly, with a 
mingling of pride and pleasure in her tone. 

“ He’s a fine feller ! ” the man continued. 

Lottie grew^more pleased and proud. “He 
wants to >!-» surprisbJ. soliloquized, gazing 
at the young crev developing into one 

of the most knowiiir^ i..^^ant of his species. 
“He may as well imaerstand he’s not in .the 
market.” 

“Yes,” she replied, “we value him too highly 
to part Avith him.” ^ 

“Did ye ever think as how he’s purty hard 
on sheep?” inquired the man, Avith a short 
laugh. “ He’s ben and killed two on ’em for 
me.” 

Poor Lottie ! She felt as if a bucket of 
cold Avater had suddenly been dashed^ over 
her. “ Oh, dear ! Avhat shall I do ! ” she 
mentally ejaculated, for the moment almost 
as terrified as if the victims had been human. 
Then she tried to put a bold face on it. 


240 


Their Children.'*^ 


“The dog’s master is not here,” she. said, 
assuming an . air of dignity that sat with ludi- 
crous grace on the curly-headed, round-faced 
little lady. 

“I thought you said he was yourn,” the 
man replied with a cunning leer in his 
coarse eye. 

“So I did. He is my husband’s dog. We 
don’t live here, but of course be has done 
you any harm, Mr. Grangerns coIIpj^^vO it right.” 

Now Lottie had ab^hain tbnuch idea of the 
vMue of sheep, as./TTicl O'V^nae. Whether Dash, 
in his benevolent efforts, had involved his 
master to the amount of hundreds or thou- 
sands, she dared not think. In her perplexity 
she was seized by a bright thought. Possibly it 
wasn’t Dash at all. She ventured to say as 
much. 

“ There ain’t no other sich kind of a krit- 
tur raound here,” he replied positively. “ I’d 
swear to him in any court.” 

“ Well, how much money will satisfy you ? ” 
she demanded in a sort of desperation. 

“Wall, now, ye see them sheep was purty 
valable. One on ’em was abaout the best in 


“ Their Children^^ 


311 


the hull lot.” Every word was as an added 
cipher at the right hand of poor Lottie’s calcula- 
tions. Would it take all they had, to get 
out of this dreadful dilemma ? “ But I guess 

— wall, I dunno — would ye be willin’ to guv 
me five dollars for ’em both ? ” 

Five dollars ! The revulsion of feeling pro- 
duced by these words was so great, so sud- 
den, that Lottie burst out laughing, in a way 
that much surprised her creditor. 

“ Here it is,” she said, taking out her purse 
with great alacrity, and handing him the money. 
“ We will try and keep the dog at home, 
hereafter. I’m very sorry he did you any 
mischief.” 

The man took his pay, and said good morning, 
in a dazed fashion, that quite puzzled Lottie. 

“Wall, I never!” he ejaculated, as he 
walked away. “ That air woman must have 
a heap of money to hand out the cash like that, 
so kinder cheerful, too. I never see anybody 
laugh so hard afore about partin’ with a V.” 

After this it was thought best to appoint 
Dash his dormitory in a little room over the 
shed, in wliich was a dormer window opening 
16 


242 


“ Their Children^'* 


upon quite an extent of roof that sloped to 
within ten or twelve feet of the ground. It 
was not considered best to tighten his collar 
enough to prevent him from slipping it over 
his long, slender head, in his kindly ' care for 
inactive sheep. So he was imprisoned, and 
not chained. As the nights were warm, the 
window was left open, and for a time all went 
well. At the end of the first week, however, 
Lottie heard a strange sound in the grey of 
the morning, that, as she was but half awake, 
made her think the snow was sliding from 
the roof. Then she became fully awake, and 
knew it could not be that, as it was mid- 
summer, so she concluded the wood-pile had 
tumbled down, und then went fast asleep, again. 

At the usual time, she went for Dash to come 
and pay his morning visit to Jennie, but he 
was not to be found. 

Elra said when she opened his door to let him 
out, he was not there. But how did he escape ? 
Through the window, of course ; and so the 
wood-pile didn't fall, after all ! In trying a 
morning ramble on the roof, he had doubtless 
slid off to the ground, and finding himself 
free, had gone — where ? 


“ Their Children,^’' 


243 


Lottie’s heart sank chill within her at the 
thought, and her relief was great, when in 
the course of an hour he appeared in com- 
pany with a young collegian whom she knew. 

“ Oh, we’ve had such a time ! ” he exclaimed, 
on entering. “ This fellow overtook me on 
my way to prayers at the college chapel, this 
morning, and insisted on going with me. I 
tried to send him back, but it wasn’t any 
use. Of course I shut him out of the building, 
but a late comer left the doors all open, and in 
he walked with the most sprightly and engaging 
manner possible. You know our President is 
dignity personified, and when he saw the amuse- 
ment on all our faces, he waved his hand majes- 
tically for some one to take the intruder out. 
Dash saw the motion, and supposed the Pres- 
ident intended him a special hondr by it, so 
he obeyed what he considered its meaning, 
and trotted off promptly to the platform, 
walked up the steps, and deliberately sat him- 
self down by the side of the great man. He 
surveyed the assembly with great gravity 
from his position, and was evidently determined 
not to be overmuch elated by this distinguished 
honor, but to bear it meekly. , 


244 


“ Their Children^ 


I don’t believe the presence of every Presi- 
dent in the land could have kept back the shout 
we raised at the ludicrousness of this scene, 
and ours was wise enough to let it have its way. 
When the force of it was a little spent, he said, 
‘Young gentlemen, this is a splendid animal. 
He has behaved with great dignity under 
new and doubtless to him trying circumstances. 
Let us not be behind him, in maintaining proper 
gravity when the occasion calls for it. Mr. 
Lovejoy, you will removo the dog, and guard 
him carefully ulitil prayers are over. We will 
then see to whom he belongs.’ 

But the thing was easier said than done. 
Lovejoy whistled and called. Dash only 
wagged the tip end of his tail, and looked up 
anxiously at the President. He said, ‘ Go, 
sir ! ’ The ‘ dog rose up and followed Love- 
joy out, with the most hurt, crest-fallen air 
imaginable, which put the finishing touch on 
as comical a scene as ever I saw in my life.” 

“ Your description certainly is comical,” Lot- 
tie said, “ but oh. Dash, Dash, what shall we do 
with you, you irrepressible puppy ! ” 

“You will have to rusticate him on the farm, 


Their ChildrenP 


245 


where he spent his babyhood,’’ suggested 
Mabel. 

“No, we can’t spare him,” Gretchen objected. 

“ With all his capers, he is the most gentle, 
docile, affectionate of friends. Let us return 
his devotion, by remembering that ‘a friend 
should bear a friend’s infirmities.’ ” 

“ And give him some breakfast, beside,” 
Mabel added, seeing how hungry the poor ani- 
mal looked after the fatigue and excitement of 
the morning. 

As she went away toward the kitchen, fol- 
lowed by Dash, Dr. Allison drove to the door. 
He came in to say good morning, and inquire 
for his little patient. 

“The day is perfect,” he said. I have to 
drive several miles into the country, over a 
charming road. Won’t somebody go with me?” 

He looked at Gretchen. She smiled and 
shook her head. “ Thank you, doctor, not 
to-day,” she said. 

“ Mrs. Granger is always ready for a ride,” 
ho ventured, turning to her. 

“ Yes, always,” she replied merrily, “ espe- 
cially when she has a long letter to write to her 


246 


“ Their Children, 


good, patient husband, and ever so many other 
things to do beside.” 

“ Well, here is a lady of leisure,” he persisted, 
turning to Mabel, as she came back from her 
attendance on Dash. “You surely will not 
refuse me.” 

“Refuse you what?” she asked, with a 
scarcely perceptible heightening of her color 
and brightening of her eye. 

“To ride into the country, with me, this 
lovely morning. I made these ladies the tempt- 
ing offer, and both refused.” 

“ ‘ What fate imposes, men must needs 
abide,’ ” she rejoined with mock gravity. 

“Yes, and so in this case be condemned to 
that ‘Solitude where all good qualities grow 
sick and die.’ ” 

“ Oh, dear, if that is to be the terrible 
end. I’ll, go out of mere humanity,” she 
answered laughing, as she went for her hat. 

Gretchen and Lottie saw them drive away, 
and looked at each other smiling, but spoke 
never a word. The birds cocked their bri<xht 
eyes at them and sang merry roundelays as they 
went by. . The summer winds followed them. 







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“ Their Children, 


247 


whispering mysterious^ among the leaves and 
waving grain. The flowers looked up at them 
and sent forth a benediction of fragrance. The 
brook leaped gaily, and babbled of them to 
the willow on the brink. But ask them what 
we will, no hint will they give of what was said 
or done on that ride. Those morning hours are 
to them a sacred, holy time, with which the 
stranger intermeddleth hot. All we know 
about it is that from that time Dr. Allison was 
received at the cottage very much as one of 
them by all but Blakemere. 

Upon Maljel herself, this new state of 
things produced a very marked change. In the 
sunshine of this newly confessed love, much of 
her pride ^ind bitterness vanished. Allison had 
always the power of bringing out the brightest, 
sweetest side of her character, and now that he 
had come into so close relation to it, he grew 
even more earnest in his study of its weak- 
nesses, that if possible he might cure them. 

His love for Mabel was singularly noble 
and unselfish. He regarded her as God’s 
best earthly gift to him, for the care of which 
he held himself responsible ; and he constantly 


248 


Their Children,^* 


sought to remove the barrier that separated her 
from God, and shut her up to the disquietude 
she had so long endured. At first, she met 
these attempts with an impenetrable reser^^e, the 
outcome of that pride which had so long held 
her back from j)eace. But finally his gen- 
tle persistence overcame her. Suddenly she 
yielded to the impulse she had always felt, 
to lay bare to liim her heart-sickness, and ask 
liis counsel. 

“ My poor darling ! ” he said tenderly, 
drawing her into his arms. “ You are just in 
the position of a little child, who, knowing that 
he is in the wrong, will still refuse to obey 
his father because — may I say it, dear? — 
because of the naughty stubbornness of his own 
will. He will not admit this. He Avill make 
any excuse but the right one. And in just this 
spirit you argue that God is arbitrary, 
bcause He demands of reasonable creatures 
assent and obedience to so many declarations 
and commands, the truth and necessity of 
which He does not deign to explain. Now if 
the little child should argue thus against 
submission to its mother, you would at once 


^'‘Tlieir Children,’*^ 


249 


see and condemn his folly. Nay, mgre, you 
would say the proper remedy for him was a 
birch rod.” 

•At this Mabel put her hand over his mouth. 
“ And so for consistency’s sake you expect me 
meekly to endure, while you scourge me with 
your tongue, in place of a stick ? 

“ Hardly that,.” he replied, takiijg down 
the 'hand and kissing it, “ God forbid that a 
poor ‘ sinable ’ creetui; like me, as aunt Hannah 
has it, should assume that attitude toward 
any mortal, much less toward one whom I so 
esteem and love ; but what I want to show you, 
is, that the wise mother requires obedience, 
because in this way she will secure her 
child’s highest happiness. She can’t make 
this plain to him. It is above his childish 
comprehension. If he obeys, he will find it 
true, but he will not understand why. Just 
so it is with us. God deals with finite beings on 
an infinite plan; infinite in love, in wisdom, 
in perfect adaptation to their Avants, not alone 
for time, but also for eternity. How can He 
explain it to them ? ' How could they under- 
stand it if he made the attempt. He says, 


250 


“ Their Children*’*^ 


‘ Obey, and ye shall be happy ; disobey, and 
inevitably if the first statement is true, ye shall 
be unhappy. We all admit that if a thing 
is good, its opposite must be evil. We never 
stop to prove it. Now, darling, God’s require- 
ments are never arbitrary. They come of 
necessity, frojn his infinite love for us and 
desire for our happiness. Oh, when we realize 
who God is, the vast moral distance there is 
between him and us, and yet that he so cares 
for us as to make it true that in him we live 
and move and have our being, is it wise, is 
it generous to withhold from him the love, the 
trust he asks from us ? Shall we not rather 
accept with unutterable gratitude the mercy he 
offers us, accept it without cavil, on his own 
terms, giving ourselves up to him entirely, only 
too thankful if he v/ill condescend to train 
us into fitness for his kingdom above?” 

Allison spoke from the very centre of his 
heart, and perhaps the silent falling of Mabel’s 
tears was a better answer than any her lips 
could have framed. 

Her thought was, “ Can* this be God’s recom- 
pense for all these months of conflict with 


“ Their Children."*^ 


251 


liim, begun far back, when I put out of sight 
my mother’s record of her life, and went to 
my prayerless rest? Is it by the hand of 
him I love best on earth that God would draw 
me to himself? Is it through the ever-present 
influence of this strong yet gentle nature, that I 
am to be led up step by step to the obedience 
and love of which he speaks ? ” 

Truly Allison had probed the wound, but 
now it would begin to heal. 

Gretchen watched these spiritual changes 
with silent pleasure and thanksgiving. 

We have elsewhere said of her that she 
seemed to exhale holiness as does the lily its 
fragrance. Her office in the world seemed to 
be simply . to hold before it the beauty of her 
own pure life, never to argue, exhort or reprove, 
scarcely to persuade. Nor was she to blame for 
this any more than is the lily for not having the 
medicinal qualities of the gentian. Yet she did 
not the less rejoice when the dear ones^about her 
came into sympathy with* the motive power 
of her life, love to God. She only grieved that 
Philip, for whom she would have given her life 
itself, was the only one of all the household who 
refused to come to the light. 


252 


Their Children,'*^ 


Thus the checkered life of our dramatic per- 
son£e flowed on, baby Jennie being the only 
one Avho knew no sorrow. 

Dear child ! as yet she did not understand the 
life-long trial in store for her. She was 
supremely happy in her carriage or. the arms 
that were always ready to carry her whither- 
soever she would. With mamma, Dash and old 
aunt Hannah at her beck, she wanted for noth- 
ing, and before the summer was spent, she 
had regained almost her old, rosy plumpne 


CHAPTER XX. 


S anxiety for Jennie lessened, it grew 
strong in the direction of Gretchen. 
She began to show symptoms of a 
serious nature, and Allison watched 
her with evident concern. He tried various 
remedies with little or no effect, and at last 
he said one day to Mabel, — 

“It is useless to expect any improvement in 
Mrs. Blakemere, unless she can have entire 
change of scene. ” 

“ Oh, I hope that isn’t so ! ” Mabel answered. 
“ She would never leave home without Philip, 
and just now he is more than usually needed at 
the bank.” 

“So much the better, Mabel. I need not 
hesitate to say to you that the very best remedy 

253 



254 


“ Their Children,^'* 


for her, is to get her away from him. We have 
a tacit understanding to be silent on these mat- 
ters, but you know as well as I that anxiety and 
grief are at the bottom of these physical 
troubles.” 

“ I do, indeed ! ” Mabel replied sadly, her 
eyes filling with tears. “ How I wish Charles 
were here ! I know she pines for him continu- 
ally, though she never says so.” 

“ Very likely ; but his being here would only 
make things worse,” the doctor answered has- 
tily, then checked himself, as Mabel looked 
at him in surprise. 

“ You know,” he went on, “ he would never 
endure Blakemere’s treatment of his wife. 
From my soul I pity the man, but his conduct is 
shamefvil. He is as surely killing Gretchen as 
though he were poisoning her.” 

Mabel said nothing. Even to Allison she 
could not speak of this skeleton in the family 
closet. Yet afterward, sbe thought much about 
his words. She fancied they indicated a more 
intimate knowledge of their past’ troubles than 
she supposed possible to him. Why had he 
spoken so hastily about matters being made 


“ Their Children,^^ 


255 


worse if Charles were there? What followed, 
though evidently intended to account for liis 
words, did not do so. She was sure he kept 
something back. Yet, he was almost a stranger 
in Eau Claire, when, these domestic clouds 
arose, and certainly knew nothing beyond what 
rumor gave him. It was, after all, only a ner- 
vous fancy on her part, to imagine he meant 
more than he said. Yet even while she tried 
thus to quiet herself she felt sure her fancy had 
the best of the argument. One thing v/as 
certain, however, he did say the best thing 
for Gretchen was change, absence from home, 
and she resolved the thing should be in some 
way arranged. 

“ Suppose we go home with Lottie,” she 
said one day, as Gretchen sat sewing on a coarse 
apron she was making for one of a family of 
poor children, whose mother had just died. 
“ You know Ned is coming for her in a fort- 
night, and just imagine how charmed they 
would be to have our company back.” 

“ Perhaps now they wouldn’t,” Gretchen 
answered Avith her quiet smile. “I shouldn’t 
wonder if they were heartily tired of us by this 
time.” 


256 


Their Children*^ 


“ Do you judge others by yourself ? ” Lottie 
asked gaily. 

“By no means, dear ! ” Gretchen replied 
earnestly, troubled at the mischievous turn thus 
given to her words. “ I don’t know what we 
will do without you and the darling baby.” 

“Well, then, why won’t you think seriously 
of Mabel’s plan. Nothing would delight Ned 
and me more.” 

“ Oh, you know I wouldn’t go without 
Philip, and he is just now too busy to be spared. 
I’ll try and lend Mabel, though, if the doctor 
will consent.” 

“Thank you,” Mabel replied. “The doctor 
is just the one who put it into my head. He 
says a journey is the very best medicine 5^ou 
can have.” 

She did not reply at once. When she spoke 
there were tears in her voice. 

“Perhaps he is right, if the way led across 
the ocean to dear Charlie,” she said. 

Then one by one the big drops gathered and 
fell upon her v/ork. With her life ebbing away 
faster than any but herself knew, with her 
strength failing almost from day to day, she 


“ Their Children.' 


257 


could no longer entirely hide her heart’s hunger 
for the twin brother she so loved. Had Mabel’s 
spirit been still as proud and repellant as it was 
before God’s grace began to soften it, had Lottie 
been still the thoughtless being Gretchen found 
her on her return from Europe, she might 
have nerved herself to bear on in silence. But 
there was now between the three, a strong bond 
of sympathy that almost unconsciously drew 
them nearer together, and made Gretchen 
shrink less from giving them a glimpse of her 
secret sorrows, and when Mabel came and fold- 
ed her arms about her, she burst into a pas- 
sion of weeping that shook her fragile form from 
head to foot. Mabel made no effort to soothe 
her. She knew this outburst, so unusual, so 
unexpected, was the very relief her long pent 
up feelings required, so she waited silently, till 
its force was spent, with only an occasional kiss 
on the pale cheek. Lottie stood by with a face 
full of sympathy, holding one of Gretchen’s 
wan hands in both her' own, which were 
plump and dimpled, and white. 

Presently Mabel said, “ Dear Gretchen, why 
shouldn’t you go to Germany? It is the very 
17 


258 


Their Children^' 


thing. I wonder we have not thought of it 
before.” 

“ O Mabel, please don’t ! ” Gretchen 
exclaimed. I ought not to have said it. You 
know Philip can’t leave.” 

“But you can go without him. He v/ill 
spare you if he thinks your health requires it.” 

“ Possibly. But* I couldn’t go alone ! ” she 
answered, trying to laugh. 

“No, but I will go v/ith you. Nothing would 
delight me more. Together we would get 
on nicely. Beside, if Charles knew we were 
coming, he would meet us when we landed, and 
escort us to Leipsic.” 

“ All beautifully planned, but not practicable, 
I’m afraid,” Gretchen answered. “Never- 
theless, you arc a dear, unselfish sister, thus 
to be ready to sacrifice yourself for me. Allison 
would hardly consent, though, I’m thinking.” 

“ Wo will see,” Mabel replied, kissing her. 

“ If you will go,” chimed in Lottie, “ I 
will stay and look after these lone, lorn men till 
you get back. You v/ouldii’t want to stay 
all winter, would you ? ” 

“ No, indeed,” Mabel exclaimed, “ we’re 


“ Their Children^ 


2517 


only planning for a few weeks’ pleasuring ; you 
know Americans can do all Europe in three 
months.” 

“ Come, girls, please don’t say any more 
about it,” begged Gretchen. “ I love and 
thank you both, but it can’t be.” 

At this moment Blakemere opened the door 
and looked in. 

“ Confound the dog, where is he ! ” he ex- 
claimed, impatiently, then seeing that some- 
thing unusual was passing, he fixed his eyes 
keenly on Gretchen for a moment, and then 
glanced angrily at the others. “What’s the 
matter?” he demanded, roughly. 

“Nothing, sir,” Mabel replied, with mnch 
of the old fire in her eye, “We are trying 
to persuade Gretchen to follow the . doctor’s 
advice, and leave homo awhile for change of 
air, but she says you can’t go, and so she 
prefers to stay.” 

“ Nonsense ! Tell Allison to mind his own 
business,” Blakemere answered savagely. 

“Ho thinks he does, Mr. Blakemere, when 
he prescribes what he knows will do his 
patients most good,” Allison replied, quietly, 


260 


Their Children. 


stepping in from the piazza, upon which he 
had come just in time to hear Mabel’s words, 
and Philip’s reply. 

“Well, sir, Mr. Blakemere thinks that Dr. 
Allison is a prying, meddling coxcomb, who, 
but for decency’s sake, he would kick out 
of doors,” was the insulting rejoinder. 

“ O Philip, Philip ! ” Gretchen cried, spring- 
ing toward him. Her face was white with 
terror. She tottered, and would have fallen, 
had not her husband caught her in his arms. 
She did not faint, but lay with her eyes shut, 
gasping for breath. 

“Bring her to this window,” Allison said, 
authoritatively. 

Blakemere obeyed, and laid her tenderly on 
the sofa. He was nearly as pale as she. 
“Will she die?” he asked, hoarsely. All 
were too busy applying restoratives to heed 
him, but Gretchen slowly opened her eyes, 
and smiled into his face. “Not yet, dear- 
est,” she murmured. ^ 

When she partially recovered, she was car- 
ried to her room, which she was unable to 
leave for several days. She thought she 


“ Their Children,^'* 


261 . . 


would have been willing to remain there the 
rest of her life, if thus she could prolong the 
tenderness with which Blakemere treated her. 
But for an unspoken contrition in look and 
tone, a contrition almost pitiful to see, she 
might have fancied they were hack in the 
old happy days, before they were so unex- 
pectedly summoned home from Lausanne. 

But, alas, she well knew this devotion was 
but for the time ; presently, things would fall 
into the old way again. 

This was, however, not to be. The sudden 
attack which so alarmed all the inmates of 
the cottage, had this good effect, that it 
brought matters to a crisis, concerning the 
proposed journey for Gretchen. 

The very night after it occurred, Mabel told 
Allison of the little scene that preceded his 
coming, and the almost inadvertent way in 
which Gretchen had exposed her yearning to 
go to her brother. 

“I wish it could be gratified,” he replied. 
“Probably nothing could be better for her.” 

“I proposed to go with her,” Mabel said. 
“Can you spare me?” 


262 


Their Children.^'* 


“ Dear girl ! ” lie answered, “ I would be 
the last one to object if it were best,' but 
Grctchen’s traveling companion should be a 
careful, experienced man. You hardly realize 
her condition, which is not strange, she is so 
cheerful and uncomplaining. I am now con- 
vinced that the principal trouble is with the 
heart, which will make her liable to sudden 
attacks similar to the one she has just had. 
She must be relieved of all anxiety by the 
way, and kept as calm as possible. For these 
and other reasons, I could never consent to 
your going with her alone.” 

“Yes, you are right,” Mabel replied, sadly. 
“ But what can we do ? Some way must be 
found, to carry her to Charles.” 

“I have a plan, Mabel,” Allison said, tak- 
ing her hand. “I have had ifc in mind for 
weeks, though what you have told me to- 
night has given it a more definite form. Can 
we not, for Gretchen’s sake, change the day 
of our wedding, which is now fixed for mid- 
winter, to the present time, and so making 
it suitable for me to take you both to Ger- 
many? Don’t answer me yet,” he went on, 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


263 


without waiting for the impetuous protest he 
saw ready to burst forth. “Think of it a 
little first, and remember, that I urge it in 
view of .peculiar circumstances, before which 
everything else should yield. I have not 
spoken of this before, because I was not sure 
of being able to leave my business; but to- 
day I have heard from a friend of mine, a 
skillful physician, who has just returned from 
studying abroad, that he will take my prac- 
tice while I am away. Now, darling, if you 
consent, all can be arranged.” 

And Mabel did consent ; not then, but 
finally, after a careful consideration of all the 
pros and cons, and much gentle persuasion 
from Allison., 

To the surprise of all, Blakemere advocated 
the plan warmly, which removed Gretchen’s 
sole objection. He seemed eager to adopt 
any measure likely to benefit his wife, but 
he expressed no wish to accompany her, nor 
did she say she deshed it. In all this there 
was something wholly unaccountable, especially 
to Lottie. She wondered what would recon- 
cile papa Ned to let her go from Iro, across 


264 


“ Their Children^'' 


the sea, were she sick like Gretchen. She 
was certain nothing would tempt her to do 
it. Blakemere at first opposed her remaining 
with liim while Gretchen was absent, byt his 
gentle wife urged it so strongly, on the ground 
of her own relief from anxiety on his account, 
that he yielded. So Lottie again postponed, 
in a spirit of genuine self-sacrifice, her return 
to Granger and the delights of her western 
home. 

Two bridals beside the one with which our 
story opens, had been solemnized at the cot- 
tage. Two Mabels, mother and daughter, had 
there taken the vows that bound them, “For 
better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, till 
death do us part.” Now the third Mabel, 
child and grandchild, was to tread in their 
footsteps. 

All things were ready for departure. Granger 
had come, partly to be present at the cere- 
mony, but more to solace himself with a sight 
of his sweet wife, and dear unfortunate, but 
very merry baby. He also brought a sister 
of his own, to help them through the time 
of Gretchen’s absence, by her bright f^ce 
and sunny ways. 


“ Their Children*'^ 


265 


Gretchen had regained her usual calm self- 
poise, since the one day, when for a little, 
it had failed her. Unutterable gratitude to 
everybody for smoothing her way to Charles, 
seemed now to he her predominant feeling. It 
looked from her eyes, it spoke in the tones 
of her voice, and often framed itself into words. 

Her tenderness toward Philip increased, if 
that were possible, while his for her never 
wavered during the rapid preparations for her 
journey. He even forced himself to consult 
with Allison as to the best arrangements for 
her comfort on the voyage. Thus they came 
to a bright September morning, when, in the , 
presence of a few friends, Mabel Flopstock 
and Richard Allison were married. 

Only the fair bride knew what this change 
in her wedding day had cost her. Of a 
highly imaginative nature, she had loved to 
fancy herself drifting slowly toward it on a 
gentle tide, surrounded by the rose hues and 
fragrance in which her soul seemed bathed 
by the consciousness of Allison’s love. In 
reality, she came to it suddenly, not as the 
central, beatific hour of her earthly existence. 


266 


“ TJieir Children.'*^ 


to which she was free to concentrate every 
feeling and emotion, but as an incident on 
the way in which she v/alkcd entirely for the 
sake of another, who, reason as she v/ould, 
had seemingly come between Allison and her-, 
self, because, for her sake, he had urged her 
to overcome all scruples to their immediate 
marriage. 

“Oh, selfishness! How the net v/ork of thy 
slender, but strong fibres, spreads itself through 
the human heart, ready to catch even our best 
motives and desires, until we grow faint with 
struggling to free them.” 

Mabel strove to subdue these fancies. She 
reasoned with, laughed at, or tried to forget 
them, but they tormented her still. At last 
she took refuge in confession to Allison him- 
self. He was so gentle, yet so wise, so clear 
sighted in these difficult soul problems, she 
was fast learning to confide them all to him. 

He listened to this one, not in amusement, 
as she expected, but gravely, almost reverently. 

“ Dear soul I ” he said. “ Can it be that I 
have power to wake such fancies in your 
thought? Fancies so bright, it gives you all 


“ Their Children.^'* 


26T 


this pain to part with them ? God help me ! 
What if I should trifle, or bo thoughtless, or, 
worse by far, in wantonness wound such love 
as yours! But, darling, if, as you say, your 
selfishness is being disciplined by our hasty 
marriage, mine is being gratified. I have all 
along been afraid that my plan had its origin 
in this rather than in benevolent care for my 
patient. I v/as suspicious of its value on that 
very ground. So, while you accuse yourself 
because of your reluctance, I do the same 
thing because of my eagerness. So far from 
•its being to me only an incident by the way, 
I am in great danger of making it the great 
event which will cast everything else into 
the shade. I am sometimes afraid I shall fail 
in care for the invalid, through selfish ab- 
sorption in my own happiness.’’ 

Perhaps Allison’s words were hardly a rebuke 
to Mabel’s selfishness, but they had a wonderful 
effect nevertheless. She grew strangely satis- 
fied with things as they were. She began to 
suspect that her trouble had been not so much 
a dread lest she should be fo7ced to regard 
her marriage as merely incidental, as that he 


268 


Their Children^ 


would do so. Now that she had sounded his 
feelings and found them more profound than 
she had imagined, her trouble was ended. 
Looking back upon her marriage from the 
beyond, full as it was of care for Gretchen, she 
felt that it had realized to her her most poetic 
dreams. The one accidental moment which 
found her alone with Allison after the solemn 
ceremony was over, when his arms were 
about her, and she heard his voice saying, 
“ Mabel, my own precious wife ! ” condensed 
into itself a joy exceeding her fondest anticipa- 
tions. Henceforth she could give herself unre- 
servedly to Gretchen. 



CHAPTER XXL 

ELF-SUPERINTENDENCE ! That a 
thing should overlook itself ! ’ Is not this 
a paradox, and hard to be understood ? 
It is indeed difficult, and to the imbruted 
sensualist, a direct contradiction ; and* yet most' 
truly does the poet exclaim, — 

‘ — Unless above himself he can 
Erect himself, how mean a thing is man ! ”’ 

Herr Humbert had said of himself, when on the 
mountain-side he secured Franse as his secre- 
tary, that he was too busy to keep guard 
over himself, and he spoke a more profound 
truth than he knew. “ For alas ! the largest part 
of mankind are nowhere greater strangers than 
at home.” Neither was he any exception to this 
rule. With all his varied learning, his knowl- 

269 



270 


“ Their Children^ 


edg^ of Herr Hiendrich Humbert was very 
slight. But suddenly, by the abrupt suspension 
of his physical powers, his attention was driven 
inward. The whole force of his mental activity 
was, as it were, instantly turned upon himself, 
and this when he stood face to face with a 
foe from which he had always shrunk with sin- 
gular dread, but from whom there seemed now 
little hope of escape. 

Coleridge says that “ in countries enlightened 
by the Gospel, the most frequent impediment to 
men’s turning their minds inward upon them- 
selves is that they are afraid of what they shall 
find theitj. There is an aching hollowness in 
the bosom, a dark cold speck at the heart, an ob- 
scure and boding sense of a Somewhat that 
must be kept out of sight of the conscience, 
some secret lodger, v/hom they can neither 
resolve to eject or retain.” 

Alas, for the unhappy being who, when weak 
in body and sick at heart, is forced to behold 
this secret lodger in the light of an awakened 
conscience ! 

Thus week after week did Herr Humbert’s 
powerful mind prey upon itself with no relief. 


“ Their Children 


271 


no solace save that afforded by Margaret’s 
sacred readings and sweet hymns. Why these 
comforted liim ho hardly lincw ; but so it v/as. 

Charles marveled at the sweet girl’s persever- 
ance in a ministry that seemed to him so utterly 
useless, and he was greatly surprised v/hen on 
the morning following the discovery connected 
with the bronze statue, as ho sat with the 
sick man he suddenly turned to him and said, 
“ Charles, I want you to go out and bu}’- mo 
a Bible. Then I want you to* read it aloud 
to mo from beginning to end. Whether it 
is what Margaret believes it or' not, she has con- 
vinced me that it is a sublime book, well 
worth my attention. Wouldn’t it be strange, 
boy, if after I had spent all my days search- 
ing for truth, a girl should show me some- 
thing better worth knowing than all the rest?” 

Franse made some slight answer and went 
at once on the errand, though it was not ivholly 
agreeable to him. With the tiny lettering 
on that white warrior’s shield ever forming 
itself into words before the eyes of his mind, 
words he tried to forget, but that haunted him 
continually, words pregnant with meaning, 


272 


Their Children^ 


no doubt, but which he did not understand, 
he shrank from plunging into the full stream 
from which the rill had been drawn. 

To read the Bible aloud to Herr Humbert, 
seemed to him hke throwing a strong light 
upon some hidden place, which we more 
•than half suspect to be full of things from 
the sight of which we shrink. He did not care 
to take the candle of the Lord and walk 
through the secret chambers of his soul, much 
less to go with^the scientist through his. 

It cannot be denied that these were but mor- 
bid fancies springing from a mind thoroughly 
disordered by sudden separation from all it 
loved, under singularly trying circumstances. 
It is with the soul as it is .with the body, 
which will resist disease even when . there is 
a strong natural tendency toward it, so long 
as its surroundings are healthy and its general 
tone can be kept sound ; but change all this, 
and the malady will at once begin to show itself. 
So, now, the natural haughtiness inherent in the 
soul of young Franse, and that rebelhon against 
revealed truth so inseparable from pride, 
were making themselves felt, in many pain- 


“ Their ChildrenJ*^ 


m 


ful ways. But as those diseases are most to 
be dreaded that give no sign, let us hope this 
soul-sickness will so manifest itself as to claim 
attention and find a cure. 

When Franse returned from the book-store, 
he found Margaret Liebnitz sitting by the in- 
valid and amusing him with a lively anecdote 
about one of his numerous friends, none of 
whom, by the way, had he allowed to come into 
his presence since he was stricken with paral- 
ysis. For the first time since his^ illness, he was 
laughing heartily. 

“ Tell it again, tell it again,” he said in his 
slow, difficult speech. “ I wan’t Charles to en- 
joy it, too.” 

Margaret obeyed with a quiet humor that 
Franse thought very charming. When the mer- 
riment subsided, the invalid asked, changing the 
subject abruptly, as was his habit, “ Why 
didn’t you tell me about that bronze figure 
I gave you ? Margaret says it is the most beau- 
tiful, wonderful thing she ever saw.” 

“ I thought you wouldn’t care about it,” 
Charles replied, somewhat embarrassed by the 
question. 


18 


274 


“ Their Children'^ 


“ I shouldn’t, if I could be back at my work,” 
he answered peevishly, “but now I want to 
sec it.” 

Charles swallowed the objection that sprang 
to his lips, and went away to fetch it. Soon 
the pure white figure stood forth in the morning 
light. 

“It is just as exquisite now as it was by gas- 
light,” Margaret said, looking up at Franse with 
her quiet, soulful eyes, utterly unconscious 
it was she and not the marble he was admiring. 
“I was afraid it would lose it’s spiritual look 
in broad daylight ; but it doesn’t.” 

“ Not at all, that I can see,” he replied, with 
what seemed to her a lamentable want of 
enthusiasm. 

“Well, there’s one curious thing about it,” 
Herr Humbert said, “which is that any man 
should be willing to waste his time upon a thing 
hkc that, when probably ho didn’t know one in- 
gredient of the marble on which he worked.” 

“ And no doubt both Lombardo and Antonio 
would wonder exceedingly why any man in his 
senses should be always pulling things to pieces, 
when beauty is so much better than science,” 


“ Their Children,^'* 


275 


Margaret returned, laughing. “ Beside, this 
was wrought with a high and holy purpose ; 
it illustrates a very striking passage of Scrip- 
ture.” As she spoke, her face took on that 
reverent look which it unconsciously Avore 
whenever she spoke of sacred things. 

“ Well, now, explain it to me,” the Herr said 
in his imperative way, . Avhich the young folks 
had learned meant the same as does “ If you 
please,” in a more polite, hut perhaps less 
honest mouth. 

“ With pleasure,” Margaret replied, begin- 
ning at onee to unfold the design of both bronze 
and marble. 

“ But, ehild, those words on the shield seem 
like nonsense. What sense is there in talk- 
ing about the helmet of salvation, and the 
sword of the spirit and all that ? ” 

Margaret looked perplexed, and did not 
answer at once. 

“ A knowledge of the Bible Avould bring out 
their meaning,” she . said at last, with some hesi- 
tation. 

“ Can’t you explain ’em ? ” he demanded im- 
patiently. 


276 


“ Their Children,''^ 


“ Hardly ; at least it would take some time.” 

“How long?” 

“ Days, perhaps.” 

“Very well, then, take days and do it,” 
he replied. “ Beside, here is a Bible Charles 
has just bought me. He is going to read it 
to me from beginning to end. I’m going to see 
which knows most, you or I.” 

This was the first intimation Margaret had 
received that her labor of love was not 
wholly lost. Her heart glowed with joy, and 
threw it’s reflection into her face, as she ex- 
claimed fervently, “Thank God I” 

“Wait a bit, wait a bit. You may get 
the worst of it,” he answered, half peevishly. 

“ No, I’m certain that cannot be,” she said, 
with an implicit confidejice in the truth of 
her belief which was always a marvel to 
Franse. 

He said nothing. He was restless and un- 
certain. He envied Margaret her calm as- 
surance of faith, while, at the same time, he 
beheved it could easily be shaken, if put to 
the test of argument or 'investigation. He 
longed to see it thus tried, and yet he would 


Their Children.^'* 


277 


not on any consideration be tbe one to do it. 
Now he believed Herr Humbert was about 
to try the experiment, and he resolved to 
watch the combat closely. 

Margaret looked at her watch. “I must 
go,” she said. “ I promised to spend the day 
with Fraulein Hine.” 

“I suppose she’s sick, or you wouldn’t do 
it,” the Herr remarked, in a tone half ad- 
miring, half angry, which he always used in 
speaking of Margaret’s nonsensical benevolence, 
as he chose to caU it. 

“ Yes ; she is mostly confined to her bed, 
with spinal disease, and thinks she could not 
get on at all without an occasional visit from 
me. Silly, isn’t she?” Margaret added, with 
a roguish twinkle in her eye. 

“ Come, come ! You think because you can 
talk faster than I can, that you have the best 
of me, but you just look in the glass, and 
you’ll see you never was made to go round 
sitting all day in dirty courts and alleys, 
nursing sick women and babies.” 

“ I don’t know about that,” she replied, 
merrily. “If I spent much time before the 


278 


“ Their Children. 


glass, I am afraid I should feel obliged to go 
by way of penance, and stay all night. Now, 
I go because I love to, and I very seldom 
stay even all day, so I don’t believe there 
would be any gain in following your advice. 
See these flowers,” — opening a little basket. 
“I always carry some. The Fraulein says they 
are God’s smiles to her.” 

“Well, to my thinking, Margaret Liebnitz 
is the sweetest flower that ever grew,” the 
Herr exclaimed, in a sudden burst of admira- 
tion. 

Margaret blushed at this outspoken compli- 
ment, and was glad Franse had left the room 
before it was uttered. 

She laughed gaily, however, exclaiming, 
“ Dear me ! This will never do. Now, to 
make amends, you must listen to a request 
grandma wishes me to make. She is obliged 
to go to Weissenfels on some business. You 
know she dislikes traveling in a public con- 
veyance ; therefore, she intends to, take a 
private carriage with four seats. As she likes 
company, she has invited her old friend, Herr 
Lenz, to go, and her request is, that you will 


‘‘Their Children^ 


279 


spare Herr Franse, provided he aecepts the 
vacant seat she means to offer him. She thinks 
the change will do him. good, and Simon will 
stay v/ith you till- his return, which will be 
in two or three days, at the most. We may 
be back sooner.” 

“ Tfe! So you are going too, are you? 
Do you thiiik I’m to be left to myself three 
whole days v/ithout either you or Charles?” 

“ That seems to be grandma’s idea,” she 
replied, merrily, well knowing that the Herr 
was affecting most of his apparent dismay. 

“Well, tell her F never would have be- 
lieved she was capable of proposing such a 
selfish thing; but she’s right, about it’s doing 
the boy good. He’s been tied up here quite 
too long. Yes, make him go by all means. 
I shall do well enough with Simon.” 

Margaret would gladly have added to her 
thanks for his compliance, the wish that he 
were able to join the party: but she well 
knew that such courtesies vexed, instead of 
pleasing him. So she merely said good bye, 
and went away before Franse returned. 

When he did so, Herr Humbert greeted 


280 


“ Their Children. 


him thus: “So, boy, they’re going to rob 
me of you, it seems.’* 

“How IS that, sir?”' Charles inquired, not 
comprehending the remark. 

“Why, Madam Liebnitz and Margaret are 
going to carry you off to Weissenfels to- 
morrow.” 

“It is the first I’ve heard of it.” 

“WeU, they are, and I'm glad of it. 
’Twill do you good. Simon’s going to stay 
with me.” 

“You seem to consider it settled that I 
shall accept the invitation, when it comes,” 
Charles said, considerably amused. “It cer- 
tainly is not wise to refuse it beforehand. 
Probably it is for this that Madam sent me 
word to call on her to-night.” 

“ Of course it is. And now don’t let me 
hear anything about refusing. Where’s that 
book? Let’s begin it.” 

Charles sat down, took it up, and began 
to read at the first verse of the book of 
Genesis. On and on he went, through many 
chapters, with no word of comment from his 
hstener, who, he saw, was, nevertheless, giv- 
ing the closest attention. 


Their Children,'^^ 


281 


At last he said, abruptly, “That’s enough. 
I can think it over while you’re gone. I’m 
tired now. I’ll lie down.” 

Charles closed the volume with alacrity, and 
calling the housekeeper, they together sup- 
ported the tottering figure to the bed-room, 
and laid it tenderly to rest. 

It was a daily marvel to Franse, how so 
strong and active a soul as that of his feeble 
friend, could be maintained in so shattered a 
body. It seemed to set at naught all his pre- 
conceived ideas of the connection between 
spirit and matter. He was fast becoming 
aware that he was far from having gained 
perfect knowledge in any direction. * All the 
foundations were breaking up, leaving him 
tossing about in a perfect sea of uncertainty. 
His mental cry was ever, “What is truth?” 

But, despite all this, the prospect of a 
break in the tedious monotony of his life was 
very delightful ; for, if it had been wearisome 
to him when busy with the work he came to 
do, cheered, as it was, by association with 
the usually genial scientist, what must it be 
now, when almost wholly devoted to a help- 
less, and often vexatious invalid? 


282 


“ Their Children,^'" 


So, after all, the invitation was virtually 
accepted before it was given, and the even- 
ing found him at Madam Liebnitz’s door. 

She welcomed him with a motherly kind- 
ness which he always found most captivating. 
The home feeling it roused in this strange 
land was like a rest to his soul-weariness. 
Margaret, too, was there, an unusual circum- 
stance, as he very seldom saw her when he 
went to the house. Her days were so filled 
with the benevolent work she had chosen, as 
to leave her but little time for study or 
reading; and she often devoted hours, in 
which she v/as sure her grandmother was well 
entertained, to pursuits for which she had a 
strong - desire. 

“Margaret told you my plan for to-morrow, 
I believe?” Madam L. said. 

“ No, I learned it from Herr Humbert,” 
Charles replied. 

“And he discouraged your going?” 

“Not at all. On the contrary, he urged it.” 

“ He is more self-sacrificing than I ex- 
pected,” she returned. “ So now we may 
consider it certain that you will go, may we 
not? ” 


Their Children,'*^ 


283 


“I am hardly sure that I should be right 
to leave him.’’ 

“You will be just right,” the old lady re- 
turned, positively. “By going you will do 
him as much good as yourself. You will 
come back a much better companion, for the 
rest and recreation. Nobody is proof against 
the depressing effects of such close confine- 
ment. If you don’t believe me, ask this, 
young doctress.” 

“Ho wouldn’t need to ask me, if he had 
ever heard any of my gratuitous lectures to 
those who have the care of my sick people. 
If the poor sufferers can’t get out themselves 
into the fresh air and sunshine, there is all 
the more need that those about them should 
do so, that they may bring back some of the 
health-giving influences to their patients. I 
try to persuade them to combine just as much 
sunshine, freshness, fragrance and beauty in 
themselves as is possible. It is ten times more 
efficacious than medicine.” 

“You not only preach, but practice,” Charld^ 
said. 

“I try to,” she answered, simply. “I make 


284 


Their Children,'*^ 


even my dress a study, so that while it is 
adapted to my work, it shall also give pleas- 
ure by its form and color. When I can at- 
tract the attention of a sick woman or child, 
enough to have them exclaim^, ‘How pretty! 
What a lovely color ! ’ I am delighted, for 
I have certainly done them good.” 

“I wish every lady studied dress from as 
worthy a motive,” Franse replied. 

“ Perhaps more do than we think,” she 
said. “We are not very well read in other 
people’s motives.” 

“This is all a digression,” exclaimed Madam 
Liebnitz. “Are you going, or not? Because, 
as we start early to-morrow morning, we must 
make our arrangements now.” 

“I’m certainly going, and thank you, too,” 
Franse replied. So it was agreed that the 
ladies should call for him as early as possible. 

“If we were coming later in the day, I 
should beg very hard to be allowed to go in 
and see my old friend,” the dear old lady 
continued. “How much better it would be 
for him to see his numerous acquaintances. 
By indulging this morbid sensitiveness, he 


“ Their Children 


285 


deprives himself of a large share of pleasure 
and relief.” 

“ That is certainly so,” Charles replied, 
“ And yet one can hardly blame him, he is so 
terribly changed.” 

“ That is what Margaret says. By the 
way, she tells me he asked to see the bronze to- 
day, and that his curiosity is aroused about 
its meaning and design. She came home over- 
flowing with delight that at last he feels even 
this -much interest. But the crowning joy is 
to find^him with a Bible, which, he intends to 
hear read through. She tliinks now she is 
sure of him.” 

“ You may be right,” Franse said, turning 
to address Margaret, bu^ she had left the 
room. “ I was going to say,” be went on, 
speaking to Madam Liebnitz, “ that if I am not 
mistaken, the Herr intends to bring all the 
powers of his mind to bear on this subject. 
Once get him thoroughly aroused in any direc- 
tion, and he is never diverted till he comes 
to some result that, at least, satisfies himself. I 
am not sure that a feminine mind, unused to 
severe reasoning, will be a match for him.” 


286 


“ Their Children^ 


“Do you remember the stripling that slew 
the giant with a smooth stone in a sling?” 
asked Madam Liebnitz. “So it may be with 
Margaret.” 

“Yes, I remember, and I am very eager to 
witness the combat. I shall not submit to being 
sent away, as I have heretofore.” 

“It will certainly be for her advantage to 
let you stay. As you consider her the 
weaker party, your manhood will compel you to 
take up on her side.” 

“I’m afraifl my help wouldn’t ampunt to 
much,” he.a,l] id, in a half remorseful tone, of 
which his i^ostess took no notice, but began 
to speak of Herr Lenz. 

“ He has I d to make his own wa}' in life, 
but, notwis^) standing, he has attained consid- 
erable eminence both as a man of business and a 
student. His domestic trials have been terrible. 
Derangement came into his family through 
his wife. For twenty years she lived in a half- 
crazed condition, and during that time a son 
•and two daughters died raving maniacs. But 
he was • so tender of them all, that he could 
not be induced to place any of them in an 


“ Their Children, 


287 


asylum. You can imagine what his home must 
have been. They are all dead now, ''and he is 
left, at the age of seventy, nearly alone in 
the world. His trials have not made him 
misanthropical, however; he is as genial and 
mellow as the sunny side of a peach, though 
looking externally like a withered, leafless 
branch. He sometimes, in speaking of his past 
trials, calls them his light afflictions.” 

“ Light, indeed !*” Charles exclaimed, “ what 
then is heavy ? ” 

“I once asked him that question, and this 
was his answer: ‘Nothing is's eavy, dear 
Madam, but sin. Better, a thousaad times, see 
our dear ones crazed, or sick, or dying, than see 
them living in possession of eve’^X’ faculty, and 
yet doing wrong. Yes, all things a e light com- 
pared with that.’ ” • ' 

“ Indeed they are ! ” Franse returned, so 
earnestly that Madam Liebnitz looked at him in 
surprise. 

He saw the expression, and colored visibly, 
but merely said, at the same time rising to 
go, “ I will be ready in season to-morrow. 
I hope we may have a fine day. Good-night, 
Madam,” and at once withdrew. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

O lovelier day ever lifted its bright face 
above the horizon, than that on which 
our party were to start on their little 
journey. The air was very warm but 
fresh. There was no languor in it. The sky 
was blue, with that rich tint of which great heat 
robs it. The trees held their myriad leaves 
with gentle but vigorous force ; not one was 
hanging listless or drooping. The happy birds 
flitted gaily about, transacting the momentous 
affairs of their feathery kingdom, in blithe, 
merry tones, apparently without any of the jar 
and wrangle to be heard among men. In the 
gardens that make Leipsic almost one grand 
parterre, at least on the great promenade, and in 

288 



Their Children,'*^ 


289 


the new town, the flowers held themselves 
proudly, swaying with elastic grace in the sum- 
mer wind that came dancing by, giving each 
a playful shake, and scattering innumerable 
dew-drops, that sent out diamond sparkles as 
they fell. 

When Franse came forth into this joyous out- 
side world, from the dim light of Herr Hum- 
bert’s bed-room, where he went to say good-bye 
before starting, his spirit responded with some- 
thing of its old-time readiness. 

“ How well you look this morning ! ” ex- 
claimed Madam Liebnitz, as he entered the car- 
riage. “ Herr Lenz, this is my young friend, 
Herr Franse.” 

Greetings were exchanged, and Margaret 
then made some particular inquiries about 
Herr Humbert, which led the conversation 
in that direction, for a time, and all the 
while Charles was observing the stranger 
closely, without seeming to do so. 

Herr Lenz was a man of tall, gaunt pro- 
portions; his clothes hung upon him loosely, 
but seemed well made, nevertheless. His face 
was hollow-cheeked, lantern-jawed, and wrink- 
19 


290 


“ Their Children,'^'* 


led; his eyes deep-set and sad looking. A 
forehead wonderfully noble and well formed 
rose above eyebrows that were bushy, and al- 
most white, while his head, from which he 
had taken his hat, was thinly covered with 
white hair. 

Such was Herr Lenz at first sight. But 
they were hardly beyond the suburbs of the 
city, on the high road to Weissenfels, before 
Charles became thoroughly interested in the 
man. 

“You come from a noble country, Herr 
Franse,” he said. “I have always felt the 
deepest interest in both American history and 
politics. I shall never go there, but the time 
was, when to see its natural wonders, and 
study its national character and peculiarities, 
was one of my strongest desires.” 

“You would find a marked difference be- 
tween the old world and the new, sir,” Franse 
replied. “America is yet in the early stage 
of rapid growth. She gives splendid promise, 
but like all young things, she has . many de- 
ficiencies, that -time alone can supply. With 
her the future is everything : here, it is the 
past.” 


“ Their Children.’^^ 


291 


“Yes,” said Madam Liebnitz, “the very- 
ground we are now riding over has several 
layers of history upon it. Poor Saxony has 
always been the highway for contending ar- 
mies.” 

“It is hard to realize that to-day,” Marga- 
ret said. “It looks so brimful of peace and 
happiness.” 

“Perhaps we might be interested in seeing ’ 
how much we can remember about the his- 
toric events that have occured between Leipsic 
and Weissenfels,” returned Madam Liebnitz, 
with a sort of challenge in her tone. “Sup- 
pose somebody begin, and let the rest add 
what they can.” 

“ Shall we start with the top or bottom 
layer?” asked Herr Lenz. 

“The bottom, by all means,” she replied. 

“ It is not the way to read history backwards.” 

“Who shall begin this display of knowl- 
edge?” he asked. 

“ Oh, the young folks, of course. It would 
not be fair to expect them to add anything 
after we had told all we knew. Come, Mar- 
garet.” 


292 “ Their Children^ 

She laughed, the color deepening in her 
face, as it always did on the least provoca- 
tion. “ I’m not much of an history scholar,” 
she said, “but I remember coming over this 
road once with grandpa, and his telling me 
about the dreadful battle that was fought at 
Lutzen, three miles this side of W eissenfels, 
between Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, 
and Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland. This 
was during the thirty years war, sometime 
in November of 1632.” Here she paused, and 
turning to Charles, said, with droll simplicity, 
“Now you go on.” 

“ I can’t,” he said, falling in with her 
humor. “ I don’t know what comes next.” 

“Why, you can tell what they were fight- 
ing about, and who was beaten,” she replied. 

“ So I can,” he exclaimed, joyfully. .“ Re- 
ligion was at the bottom of it, as it has been 
so many times before and since. Protestants 
and Catholics. Gustavus Adolphus and Wal- 
lenstien, as their champions, were here arrayed 
against each other. The Protestants won the 
day, though their beloved leader was killed. 
If I remember rightly, Wallenstein was not 


“ Their Children 


293 


once wounded, though in the thickest of the 
fight.” 

“I never could be reconciled that the noble 
king should die before the issue of the battle 
was decided,” said Madam Liebnitz, “or that 
an inferior officer, like Bernard, should lead 
the Swedes on to victory.” 

“ Better so, than that Gustavus should have 
led them to defeat,” replied Herr Lenz. “No 
' doubt the loss of their beloved king roused 
them to fight, as perhaps even his presence 
could not have done. Wallenstien’s army was 
nearly double that of Gustavus’.” 

“Yes, but how superior in the spirit that 
animated them, were both the Swedish monarch 
and his army, to the Germans. You remem- 
ber that before going into this battle, they 
sang ‘ Luther’s hymn,’ Gustavus leading in a 
deep, sonorous bass. Cotemporary authorities 
represent the effect produced by forty thou- 
sand voices thus pealing out in unison, as 
something awfully impressive. They say its 
effect was startling on the free companies and 
dissolute levies of the Imjjerial army, who 
were little accustomed to religious services of 
any kind.” 


294 


Their Children^\ 


“He was buried at Weissenfels, was he 
not?” Charles asked. 

“Yes, with the exception of his heart,” 
Herr Lenz replied. “ That was carried back 
to Stockholm, at least it is so stated on good 
authority. Wherever it rests, it was that of 
a wise, brave, Christian hero, and a loving 
one, too, if the stories they tell about his 
affection for his only child, Christina, are true.” 

“ What about her ? ” asked Margaret. 

“ She was a bold, sturdy little lass, and grow 
to be anything but a lovely woman,” he re- 
turned. “ But her father never saw her after 
she was about four years old. When she was 
a baby she was taken dangerously sick dur- 
ing his absence on some military expedition. 
He no sooner heard of it, than he hastened home 
with all speed, and on her recovery he made 
a solemn feast to celebrate the event, and ex- 
press his gratitude. After this, he always took 
her with him wherever he went, until his inva- 
sion of Germany. The story is told that 
once when he was on a tour, he came to the 
fortress of Colmar. The walls literally bristled 
with guns, in readiness to fire the customary 


their Children. 


295 


salute of welcome, but when they saw the little 
Christina, they were afraid the noise would 
frighten her to death, for she was only two years 
old. In this dilemma the captain came out 
to meet the king and explain matters. Gusta- 
vus hesitated. At first he inclined to omit 
the ceremony, but as he looked in the fear- 
less face of his little girl, he said, ‘She is a 
soldier’s child ; she must learn to bear the noise 
of cannon. Let them be fired.’ They obeyed 
the command, and when everybody looked to 
see the little maiden fainting, perhaps dying 
with terror, she sat oh her father’s arm clapping 
her hands and shouting for very delight. Of 
course the royal parent was gratified beyond 
measure.” 

As Herr Lenz finished this little story, 
they drove into the village of Kaya, one of four 
through which they had to pass on their way 
to Wiessenfels. 

“ Are we to discuss the upper layer of history 
connected with this place ? ” asked Herr 
Lenz. “It will bring us forward with quite 
a long stride, and give us, instead of Gustavus 
Adolphus and Wallenstein, Napoleon and 
Wittgenstein.” 


296 


“ Their Children.'*^ 


Margaret looked imploringly at her grand- 
mother.. 

“I see this child is getting tired of the 
history lesson,” the old lady said, laughing. 
“ Perhaps we’d better let her rest awhile.” 

“ That’s right, grandma,” she replied heartily. 
“On such a day as this, one wants to forget 
everything sad and heart-breaking. See, the 
driver is stopping to water his horses. I’ll 
get out a minute, and speak to these chil- 
dren.” Charles made haste to assist her to 
alight, and having thanked him with a pleas- 
ant smile, she walked slowly toward the 
cabin before which they had stopped. 

As she approached, the children fled, ex- 
cept one sturdy urchin, apparently about four 
years old, and a wee toddler just learning to 
walk. The boy stood his ground manfully, 
determined not to be dislodged from his position 
in the middle of the narrow path. He was 
poorly clad, and not over clean, but his chubby 
face, with its bright, intelligent eyes, looked 
very attractive through the tangle of yellow 
hair that fell over it. 

“How do you do, Jacob,” Margaret said, 


“ Their Children^ 


29T 


thus setting a trap to catch the child’s name, 
well knowing she could not "get it by direct 
means. 

“ My name isn’t Jacob,” he replied indig- 
nantly; “my name’s John Frederick William 
Jerusalem Miller,” pronouncing every word with 
slow distinctness, so they were heard by those 
in the carriage. They laughed aloud, but Mar- 
garet maintained perfect gravity, except for the 
twinkle in her eye. 

“ Well, Mr. John Frederick William Jeru- 
salem Miller, can I get some water in the 
house ? ” she asked. 

He made no answer, but moved to one side so 
she could pass. 

“ Thank 5^011,” she said, going to the cabin, 
door, where the child’s mother met her. 

She repeated her question, and when the 
woman brought a clean mug full of the clear, 
cool liquid, she paused before drinking it to say, 

“ Your little son’s name aroused pay curiosity. 
Would you mind telhng me why you gave him 
so long a one ? ” 

“ Oh dear, no,” the woman replied, pleased 
that the lady cared enough to ask. “ His father 


298 


“ Their Children, 


was the one that chose it, because he has a book 
in which he loves to read, and the man’s 
name that wrote it is John Frederick William 
Jerusalem. He always said he’d call his first 
boy after him, and so he did.” 

“May I see the book a minute?” Margaret 
asked. 

Almost instantly she had it in hand, and 
was just looking at the title page, when a 
wild scream made her turn suddenly. She 
never forgot the scene on which her eyes 
fell. There stood the wee toddler face to face 
with an immense cosset sheep, their eyes on 
a level, and scarcely six inches apart, while 
John Frederick William, &c., was fast hold 
with both hands of the animal’s tail, his feet 
braced, and pulling for dear life to hold him 
back from giving the impending bunt. 

Thus attacked in the rear, this knight of 
the woolly fleece tried to face his antagonist, 
but the spirit of J. F. W. J. Miller was 
equal to the occasion, and he kept his hold, 
despite the lively movements of his foe, till 
his mother and Margaret from the house, and 
Charles from the carriage, rushed to the rescue. 


“ Their Children. 


299 


When his baby sister was safe in the ma- 
ternal arms, he let go with a sigh of relief, 
and a somewhat heightened color. 

“Bring him here. I want to see him 
nearer,” Madam Liebnitz said. 

So while Margaret went back to the house 
\vdth the frau and her baby, young John was 
led to the carriage, and placed on the seat 
beside the stately dame. 

“You are a brave boy,” she said. “I ex- 
pect you love that httle sister dearly.” 

There was no response, though the restless 
eyes seemed to be searching everything. 

“I like to see boys love their sisters,” she 
went on, not Imowing what other remark of 
interest to make. 

He looked up suddenly into her face with 
these unexpected words: “You needn’t say 
any more about that.” 

Herr Lenz looked at him sternly. “My 
boy, you’re saucy,” he said. 

“He didn’t mean to be,” she replied, put- 
ting her motherly arm about him, “You mis- 
take his feelings. It was dislike of praise, not 
impertinence.^’ 


300 


“ TJieir Children,'*^ 


If John failed to understand the words, he 
comprehended the look, and especially the 
protecting arm. He moved nearer to Madam 
Liebnitz. 

But Margaret had come back, and it was 
time to proceed. Charles tried to lift the child 
out, but he nestled closer to his new friend, 
and whispered, his face working with eager- 
ness, “Take me. I want to ride.” 

“Oh, no. We are going a long way, and 
your mother couldn’t spare you,” she replied. 
“Let the gentleman take you out.” 

John said no more. There were no tears, 
no pleading words, but there was such an 
expression of keen disappointment, such silent 
grief in his poor little -face, that Herr Lenz 
exclaimed, “ I declare, it is too bad ! ” 

“O grandma, can’t we take him to Weis- 
senfels, and bring him back to-morrow?” 
pleaded Margaret. 

The coachman stood by the door. “ If 
Madam will allow me, I will take him with 
me,” he said. “ I’ve a little chap at hom§ 
about like him, and I know how eager he is 
for a ride. This one don’t have many chances, 
I’ll be bound.” 


“ Tlieir Children ^ 


301 


“ Do, dear grandma. I’ll go and tell his 
mother who we are, and persuade her to let 
him go.” 

Without waiting for more words, Margaret 
caught the boy by the hand, and led him to 
the house. 

“We will bring him back safely to-morrow,” 
she promised, after explaining matters. “ The 
lady in the carriage is Madam Liebnitz, and 
I am her granddaughter.” 

“The old doctor’s wife?” asked the woman. 

“Yes.” 

“ I remember him very well. He came to 
see my father when I was a child. He was 
a nice man. Yes, John may go. But won’t 
it be too much trouble?” she added, as sober 
second thought came to quiet the little con- 
fusion into wliich Margaret had thrown her, 
by the rather singular proposition. 

“No, it is a pleasure,” Margaret said, with 
a reassuring smile. 

“Then I’ll wash him a bit. I won’t be a 
minute.” This done, and his yellow locks 
smoothed and covered with his Sunday cap, 
the best article in his wardrobe, he looked 


302 


Their Children,^'* • 


quite fit for the place beside the driver, on 
which he was soon mounted, and from which, 
as he rode away, he surveyed the world with 
a look of grave satisfaction, that spoke vol- 
umes. To sit there rolling along in the sun- 
shine behind a pair of noble horses, sometimes 
even allowed to hold the reins as they went 
slowly up a hill, was to the child such bliss 
as sealed his lips with unutterable joy. These 
moments would live in his memory when the 
yellow locks were white with age, and Mar- 
garet, often leaning out, to catch a glimpse 
of him, knew what the lover of nature meant, 
when he spoke of the “Joy of delighting.” 

As they drew near Lutzen, Herr Lenz spoke 
from the window. “ Driver, when we come 
to the rock, please stop.” 

“ Yes, sir. We’re just there, sir,” and almost 
immediately he drew in his horses. 

“ With your leave, Fraulien Margaret, I will 
show Herr Franse this boulder, supposed to 
mark the spot where Gustavus Adolphus fell,” 
Herr Lenz said. “ Shall we get out and ex- 
amine it ? ” 

“ By all means,” Charles replied, “ if Madam 
can spare the time.” • 


“ Their Children 


803 


“ I would like to see it myself/’ she said. 
“ It is some years since I have been this way.” 

So the whole party left the carriage and found 
by the road-side a large, rough block of granite, 
shaded by a few poplars. Upon the top of it 
was a kind of canopy in cast iron, and about 
it several rude seats. 

‘‘ This is called ‘ The stone of the Swede,’ ” 
Herr Lenz explained. “ It was here that he re- 
ceived first a ball through his left arm, and 
shortly after another through his body, after he 
had outstripped the main part of his army, 
and while he was fighting sword in hand at 
the head of the Smaland regiment of Cavalry. 
For some reason, he had gone into battle 
without the cuirass he usually wore, and had on 
only a doublet of grey cloth, with the distin- 
guishing military scarf.” 

“ His horse was wounded also, wasn’t he,” 
Margaret asked. 

“Yes, and plunged so furiously he threw 
his rider. Two attendants flung themselves 
across his prostrate body, to protect it, though 
both Avere mortally wounded. A gentleman 
of the bed-chamber, in the hope of saving 


304 


‘‘ Their Children,’’^ 


his sovereign, cried out that he was the king. 
This act of friendship cost him his life, however, 
for he was instantly stabbed to the heart. Gus- 
tavus, almost dead from loss of blood, on being 
asked who he was, replied with undaunted cour- 
age, ‘ I am king of Sweden, and seal with 
my blood the Protestant religion and the liber- 
ties of Germany.’ ” 

“ Did he die on the battle-field ? ” Margaret 
asked. 

“ Oh, yes. The moment he was recognized 
he received five more wounds, and at last a 
bullet through the head. Just before the 
breath left his body, he exclaimed, ‘ My God ! 
my God ! Alas, my poor queen ! ’ Picolomine 
fought desperately for possession of the body, 
but it was successfully defended by Colonel 
Stalhaus, and carried to Weissenfels, where 
it was given to his sorrowing queen, who had 
accompanied him to Germany.” 

During this recital, the party stood gazing 
silently at the rude monument. They were car- 
ried back to the terrible scenes it commemo- 
rated with such distinctness as almost to forget 
the present, until Madam Liebnitz reminded 


“ Their Children?'* 


305 


them that it was high time they were on their 
way, if they expected to reach the end of their 
ride in season for dinner. Thus admonished, 
they re-entered the carriage, and drove rap- 
idly on, not pausing at Lutzen, which is only re- 
markable for its association with the great battle. 

The rest of the way was enlivened by the 
information drawn out by Herr Lentz, concern- 
ing American scenery, manners and customs, 
during a very spirited conversation between him 
and Charles. 

Franse was an enthusiastic admirer of natural 
scenery, especially that of his native land. His 
powers of description were fine, and Margaret, 
who was really but slightly acquainted with 
him, listened in astonishment to the thought 
and fancy thus displayed. 

“ I doubt if I can give you any idea of au- 
tumn in America,” he said. “ I only wish you 
could all pass one October among its northern 
hills. I wish you could glide imperceptibly 
from the rich green of mid-summer, through the 
clear, cool air of September, till you stand 
among the glories which no tongue, nor pen, 'nor 
artist’s penqil has ever adequately described. 

20 


“ Their Children 


8oe 


If, as some one says, ‘ you can imagine a thous- 
and rainbows, a thousand sunsets melted on the 
landscape until the splendid scene appears 
the very garden of Aladdin, where the topaz, 
the sapphire, the amethyst and the ruby vie 
with each other in their glittering colors, 
then you may come near the truth. The maple 
is a flush of scarlet ; the oak is swathed in 
the imperial purple of the Caesars ; the birch 
flings out its golden banners ; the beech has the 
orange tinge of the sky, just over the spot 
where the sun sinks, while among them the pine 
lifts its changeless plume of green, making them 
more gorgeous by the sombre contrast. Then 
beneath are a multitude of tints upon the plants 
and bushes, as if the leafy gems on the branches 
above had flashed their superb hues beneath 
them.’ Yet, after all, words can give but a faint 
conception of the magnificence with which 
October decks herself, especially among the hills 
of northern New England.” 

“ You are eloquent, young man,” Herr Lenz 
said. “ Just see the rapt expression you have 
brought into Fraulien Margaret’s face. I verily 
believe she sees it all.” 


“ Their ChildrenJ*'* 


307 


“The description is not mine, sir; it is 
borrowed,” Charles said, glancing at Marga- 
ret, who laughed merrily, despite the blushes. 

“ How cruel of you, Herr Lenz, to break the 
spell,” she exclaimed. “ I was perfectly en- 
chanted. The whole glowing picture seemed 
right before my eyes.” 

“ Forgive me, Fraulien. It was bad of me. 
If I was a young man, I would make amends by 
inviting you to go with me and see if the reality 
justified such word-painting.” 

“ Then you would say the half had not 
been told you,” Charles said, just as the carriage 
stopped at the Weissenfel inn. 




CHAPTER XXIII. 


FTER dinner, the party went out, 
first to transact the business Madam 
Liebnitz had in hand, afterward to visit 
various points of interest. Young John, 
still in a seventh heaven of delight, was left 
in charge of the friendly driver, and all went 
well, until at evening thick clouds began to 
gather, and, much to the chagrin of our party, 
the patter of fast falling rain disturbed their 
slumbers during the whole night. 

With morning the storm increased, and the 
wind sighed dismally. The face of nature 
was a sorry sight ; the brightness had all gone 
oiit of it. 

“Never mind,” said Madam Liebnitz, we 

308 



“ Their Children.'*'* 


309 


have a close carriage, and plenty of wraps ; 
we shall do well enough. The driver will have 
the worst of it.” 

“ We must take Master John Frederick Wil- 
liam Jerusalem Miller with us inside,” sug- 
gested Margaret. 

“Well, I hardly know about that,” her 
grandmother replied, laughing. “ Perhaps 
there’s room for Master John., but I object to the 
rest.” 

To wait for the storm to clear was not to 
be thought of, as all were anxious to return 
at once, so they set out as soon as possible 
after breakfast. But the way that yesterday 
•had smiled in the bright sunshine, was now 
sullen under the clouds! Mud was everywhere. 
Gullies and ruts made an uncomfortable and not 
always safe variety. So their progress was slow 
and far from exhilerating. 

But it is in such scenes as this that the true 
character appears. Peevishness, selfishness, and 
irritability flourish and grow green, in a close 
carriage, under a heavy rain-storm, over torn 
and muddy roads. In this case, however, these 
culprit plants were either not present, or else 


310 


“ Their Children,'*' 


they were so buried beneath courtesy, care 
for others, and genuine good-temper, that 
even these favorable conditions could not bring 
them to the surface. Even Master John was 
pronounced a model of juvenile patience, 
and Margaret was just rewarding him with a 
tempting cake from her basket, when, crash ! 
bump! “whoa!” came all in a second, and 
our party found themselves in a very astonished 
heap, in the back corner of the vehicle. 
Strange to relate, neither lady screamed. 
Charles, who had fallen uppermost, was making 
frantic efforts to open the carriage door, in 
which he finally succeeded, and with diffi- 
culty drew himself out. The driver was 
busy with his frightened horses, having himself 
been thrown to the ground, but without losing 
his reins, or being hurt. Charles saw at a 
glance that one hind wheel lay prostrate in 
the mud, but just why was not quite plain. He 
succeeded, after some trouble, in getting 
Herr Lenz upon his feet, and with his help 
the ladies and John were soon released. No- 
body was hurt, thank fortune, but what was 
to be done ? They were more than two miles 


“ Their Children.^’^ 


311 


from Kaya, in the pouring rain and deep 
mud, with only the alternative of waiting 
where they were-, until their driver could ride 
to the village and return in some conveyance 
for them, if perchance he were lucky enough to 
find one, or walking as they best could to Kaya. 

After a little consultation, they chose the 
last. Hans, the driver, proposed that the 
ladies should each take a horse, and ride on, 
but as the animals were already well terrified, 
had never had a woman on their backs, and 
there were no saddles, it was decided to trust 
to the slow but safe progress of walking. So 
Hans, with the assistance of the gentlemen, 
drew the disabled carriage to the road side, 
and mounting one horse, he took the other by 
the bridle, and set out. 

He would gladly have taken Master John 
before him on the horse, but Franse, fearing 
further accident, insisted on carrying him on 
his back. As nobody was anxious for a pro- 
longed discussion, they at once started for 
their goal. Margaret wrapped the boy in an 
ample waterproof cape, and drew the hood 
over his head, in which he looked like a 


312 


“ Their Children^ 


golden-haired cherub, in a monk’s cowl, peep- 
ing over Franse’s shoulder, as he strode along 
with him on his back, at the same time help- 
ing Madam Liebnitz along, leaving Margaret 
and the old Herr to get on as best they 
could. Herr Lenz now appeared in the splen- 
dor of a man who, master of circumstances, 
can shine even when they are adverse. Not- 
withstanding the mud, the rain, the gullies, 
and the fatigue, which became severe toward 
the end of their compulsory journey, his stock 
of anecdote and fun seemed inexhaustible. 
Apparently a merrier party never walked to- 
gether over sun-lit, flower-decked greensward, 
than this, now making its way to Kaya.. 
Nevertheless, they were by no means sorry to 
arrive there. They went directly to the cabin 
where J. F. W. J. Miller belonged, and he 
was lifted from Franse’s tired back, dry, warm, 
and sound asleep. His mother kissed him 
fondly as she laid him away, and with hearty 
hospitality devoted herself to her water-soaked, 
mud-bespattered guests. A Are was akeady 
kindled in expectation of their coming, for 
Hans had brought her the news of their mis- 


“ Their Children^ 


813 


hap, and as their heavy wraps had prevented 
the rain from penetrating below the surface, 
they were soon dry. 

Madam Liebnitz- had borne her unusual ex- 
ertions bravely, and without apparent injury, 
so their present anxieties centered on dinner, 
and the means of pursuing their journey. 

The first was soon made ready by their 
willing hostess, whose heart had been com- 
pletely won by their attention to her boy. It 
was a simple meal, but eaten with the sauce 
of keen appetites, prepared by their unusual 
exercise, it seemed fit for a king.. When it 
was over, Franse went out to find what Hans 
had been about in the meantime. He met 
him on his way to tell them that no con- 
veyance could be found in the place, and 
it was useless to expect their own to be 
mended in season to reach Leipsic that night. 

“What is to be done?” Charles asked, in 
a tone of dismay, when the state of things 
was made known to the ladies. 

“ Why, we must stay where we are till 
to-morrow,” Madam Liebnitz said, quietly. 
When Charles looked to see her thrown into 


314 


“ Their Children,^'* 


a worry over this uncomfortable delay, to his 
surprise she accepted it in a spirit of the most 
cheerful contentment. 

“You are very philosophical,” he said. 

“No, it is not that at all,” she said. 
“It is my wish to stay.” 

“I hardly know how to understand you,” 
he replied. 

“Did you never read, ‘A man’s heart de- 
viseth his way, but the Lord directeth his 
steps?’ Or this, ‘The Lord doeth all things 
well ? ’ I believe God is my Father, that he 
does direct my steps, and that he does all 
things well for me. Shall I fret, then, when 
I am delayed in a journey, or my will is 
crossed in any direction?” She said this, 
looking at the young man very kindly, but 
earnestly. He made no answer. Here was 
a practical working of implicit confidence in 
the constant dii-ection of a Supreme Power 
that he could not gainsay, and which cer- 
tainly added very much to his comfort. Had 
the ladies been listless and complaining, it 
would certainly have made matters much 
worse. With them so contented and agreea- 


“ Their Children.'*^ 


315 


ble, the delay was perfectly endurable. Mar- 
garet, with the ready tact she had learned 
in her ministry among the poor, assisted the 
peasant woman in making the most conven- 
ient arrangements for her guests. She saw at 
a glance what was best for all parties, and so 
forestalled many of the perplexities into which 
the good frau would otherwise have fallen. 

Herr Lenz and Charles had found a shelter 
for the night elsewhere. The carriage had been 
brought in, and was being repaired, the rain was 
over, and all things looked promising for a com- 
fortable return home in the morning. 

As they sat together, after supper, round the 
cheerful fire, in a spirit of ready acquiescence 
to the inevitable, Herr Lenz said, “ I have been 
reminded, to-day, of a little episode that oc- 
curred to me in my youth. The day’s experi- 
ence has been nothing to it.” 

“ Suppose you tell us about it, and let us 
judge of that,” suggested Margaret. 

“Very well. I was in the heyday of life, 
like our young friend Franse here, and noth- 
ing suited me like adventure. I was passing 
the winter at K , a town distant perhaps 


316 


“ Their Children,^' 


thirty-five miles from Gottengen. Toward 
Spring we heard that a famous singer was to 
delight the music-lovers of that old place 
with her witching voice. Of course, the musib- 

lovers of K must be delighted also, and as 

Mahomet wouldn’t come to the mountain, 
the mountain must go to Mahomet. Though no 
musician, I loved good singing, and beside, I 
was ready for action and novelty, so I joined 
a party made up of several ladies and gentle- 
men, with whom I set out next day. Three 
of us went in a diligence, as pioneers, and 
the rest, packed in a large carriage, followed 
behind. The road was a wild one, leading over 
high hills, bleak plains, through forests, and 
across ice-bound rivers. Snow was everywhere, 
above, beneath, around. The roads were 
blocked with it. Twice we stuck fast in it, 
before we had gone five miles. We got out only 
through the exertion of workmen engaged in 
clearing the way. There were places* where 
it lay six and seven feet deep, and the wind 
stung as if it were made of needle-points. But 
we kept up our courage, even amid the death- 
like stillness of the country, which impressed us 


“ Their Children.’’^ 


317 


very sensibly with the total absence of life or 
motion. No birds on the wing, no beasts in the 
field, no leaves on the trees, the very branches 
stiffened, and the murmuring streams hushed, 
The nipping wind had the good effect of stimU' 
lating the lazy ostlers into something hke quick- 
ness in tying and untying our post hoises.” 

“Excuse me for interrupting you, my dear 
sir,” Charles exclaimed, “but I have the 
greatest curiosity to know why ropes are always 
used to fasten horses to a diligence, and 
why they are so long that half the animal’s 
strength is wasted? Now in America we 
use leather straps, and the horses are har- 
nessed as close to the carriage as possible, with- 
out danger of its hitting them. Every time' 
I see a diligence, in itself so cumbersome, 
with the horses so far ahead, and mounted by 
a postilion who seems always chosen for his 
great size and weight, I can’t help thinking, 
the whole arrangement is contrived on purpose 
to give the poor horses the most trouble and 
labor possible.” 

“ Well, really, I never thought about it 
before,” Herr Lenz replied, “ And I presume 


318 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


the reason of it is that nobody else has. Our 
fathers did so, and therefore we do the same, 
without troubling our heads to think whether 
there is any better way. I suspect here is 
one of the differences between us and you 
Ameiicans. I’ve heard it said the young folks 
over there have not overmuch reverence 
for the customs and opinions of their fore- 
fathers.” 

“I’m afraid that is true, but pray go on 
with your story.” 

“Well, at last we reached Gottengen, and 
drove to an inn, followed by a party of wild 
looking students, who evidently mistook the 
lady of our party for the singer. Everybody 
was in eager anticipation of her arrival. At 
last a great shout announced it, and the crowd, 
more curious than civil, pressed about her 
carriage till she was finally rescued and car- 
ried away by a friend. That night a sudden 
thaw set in, and next morning the streets were 
a mass of dirty slush. W e did not venture out, 
but waited for the evening with what pa- 
tience we could. I cannot stop to describe 
the concert, except to say of it that we all 


“ Their Children.^'* 


319 


felt paid for coming, and determined to stay 
long enough to hear the Cantatrice again. But 
alas ! Next day we learned that the thaw 
had been so great that half the country was 
under water, and that if we did not start at 
once we could not reach home for many days, 
so we hastily packed our portmanteaux and 
set out. We found everything afloat. The 
pure white snow was turned into a dirty yellow 
hquid. Rapid streams rushed along the roads, 
wound round the tombstones in the burial 
places, and carried away fresh sods from new 
made graves. Boats traversed the fields ; 
bushes and broken timber sailed down the river, 
and even garden walls were tottering and sink- 
ing before the released waters. But we 
made our way slowly in the lumbering green 
coach, our jovial-faced, scarlet-coated courier 
ever cheering us with the promise of greater 
danger ahead. At last we came to a long 
bridge, the approach to which was through 
nearly three feet of water. Here the sight was 
truly extraordinary; the summits of the hills 
around still kept on their snow caps, and the 
dark Tannen branches bent under their wintry 


320 


“ Their Children. 


weight; but the meadows and sloping fields 
on the hill-sides were fresh and green like the 
first bursting of Spring. The swollen river 
bore along uprooted trees, debris of all sorts, 
and huge blocks of ice tumbling over one 
another in wild confusion. Half the population 
were abroad to gaze at the scene. Some of the 
masses of ice were at least twenty' feet long, 
and many broad, and woe to whatever came in 
their headlong way. Having got safely past 
this point, we began to indulge in visions of 
home, but when we came within about half a 
mile of our destination, we rnet a crowd of 
long-faced,, anxious looking people. A few 
hundred yards further on we came to a dead 
halt. On alighting, I found a confused mass of 
wagons, diligences, carriages, milk and coal 
carts, and an indescribable Babel of human 
tongues. The river had suddenly risen within 
the last half hour, and the road between us 
and the bridge was deeply flooded and crowded 
with ice. Some men tried to cross in a boat, 
but it was useless J • the blocks of ice, many 
tons in weight, came with such force that the 
adventurers barely escaped being swamped. 


“ Their Children.’’^ 


321 


The question was now not of proceeding, but 
of effecting a speedy retreat, for every moment 
the water was rising. Half the village was 
already submerged, at least two feet deep, 
and the panic-stricken peasants were driving 
their cows, pigs and poultry further up the 
country. What was to be done? Should we 
go back to some miserable inn and wait for the 
waters to subside, or make our way to a railway 
station distant about three hours drive, and from 
there make a detour of about forty miles to 
reach the town, which was now not five thou- 
sand rods away? After a hasty weighing of 
the pros and cons, we decided on the latter 
course, and were speedily splashing away 
toward the cars. At last we reached home 
safely, and proud in the consciousness that 
we had accomplished our attendance on the 
singer despite snow and water.” 

“ You proved the truth of that Shakspearian 
line, ‘ There is a tide in the affairs of men,’ ” 
said Charles, laughing. 

“Yes, truly, but we had to alter the next 
line slightly to make it fit. ^ With us it would 
have been ‘ Which taken at the tide leads on to 
(w^^s) -for tune.’ ” 21 


822 


“ Their Children,'^ 


“ Well, I’m glad you came safely through 
and lived to tell us about it,” Margaret said. 
“You have made the evening pass delightfully, 
and I thank you heartily.” 

“You are kind to enjoy an old man’s story so 
much,” he replied. “ But now we’ll say good- 
night, so as to get up betimes to-morrow.” 

And with .this the gentlemen went away 
to their uncomfortable bed at the poor little inn, 
while the ladies lay down in their clean nest 
and slept the sleep of weariness and content- 
ment. 

The next morning found them early on 
their way, and they reached home without fur- 
ther incident worth recording. Charles found 
Herr Humbert unfeignedly glad to see him 
back, and to listen to his account of even the 
minutiae of their little journey. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

AY I see it, Miss Liebnitz ? ” Charles 
asked, coming unexpectedly upon her 
one morning a few days after their 
return from Weissenfels, as she was 
showing Herr Humbert a sketch over which he 
was laughing heartily. 

“ Certainly,” she said, holding it up for him 
to see. “Can you tell what it is?” 

“I declare !”. he exclaimed, joining in the 
laugh, “ that is admirable. Nobody could 
mistake it, I’m sure. Master John and the cos- 
set sheep are every bit as comical here as they 
were at Kaya. You have done them full jus- 
tice. But I didn’t know you were an artist.” 

“ I’m not,” she replied, modestly. “ I have 
only a moderate degree of talent for drawing, 
but if any scene impresses me very forcibly I 

323 



324 


Their Children,'*' 


can’t rest till I make a picture of it. Beside, 
I thought this would amuse Herr Humbert, and 
help him appreciate the ludicrousness of our 
adventure.” 

“If I could draw like that I should call 
myself an artist,” Charles replied. 

“ Well, well, no matter what she calls herself, 
we know what she is,” interposed Herr Hum- 
bert. “Get that bronze, will you? She’s 
going to begin explaining it to me this 
morning.” 

“ With pleasure, sir,’^ returned the young 
man, “ but first I want Miss Liebnitz to prom- 
ise me that I maj^ stay and listen.” 

“ Of course, boy, of course. He may, mayn’t 
he, Margaret ? ” 

“Certainly, if he wishes to, and will be 
good,” she said, her frankness tinged with a 
shade of reserve, behind which, as under a deli- 
cate veil, she seemed always sheltering herself, 
even in her most vivacious moods. Notwith- 
standing her practical common sense, her useful- 
ness, her energy, her unshrinking performance 
of even the most irksome duty, she was always 
surrounded by an atmosphere of womanly deli- 


“ Their Children, 


325 


cacy as subtle yet as alluring as the fragrance of 
a rose. Charles was always watching to find it 
gone, at least for the time, but his scrutiny only 
made him the more certain that it was never 
wanting. 

He brought the statue and placed it. on the 
table before Herr Humbert, but as he did so 
he trembled to think of the conflict about to 
begin between implicit faith and total unbe- 
lief. Could the end be other than fatal to Mar- 
garet’s peace? 

She had gone to the library on an errand 
for the invalid, and, yielding to a sudden im- 
pulse, Charles followed her. 

“Miss Liebnitz, are you not afraid to ex- 
pose your precious beliefs to the severe test 
of Herr Humbert’s reasoning?” he asked, 
anxiously. 

“ I have thought of that,” she replied, 
gravely, “ but there is no danger. I am merely 
an instrument in the hands of another. I 
have only to do my duty, and leave the result 
with God.” 

Franse said no more ; but went back to the 
room he had just left, where Margaret almost 
instantly joined him. 


326 


“ Their Children,^'* 


“ Charles, this fellow looks as if he saw some- 
thing worth having ! ” exclaimed Herr Hum- 
bert. “ One would think he was climbing a 
mountain after specimens ! ” 

“ That’s just it, dear Herr,” Margaret replied 
eagerly.. “He does see something worth 
having ; he is climbing a mountain, and find- 
ing specimens all the way of a great treasure 
hidden away for him on the top.” 

“ Mountain-tops sometimes disappoint us, 
girl,” the invalid said, sharply. “ We never are 
certain what we shall find till we get there.” 

“True,” she answered, gently, “but of this 
one it is written, ‘Eye hath not seen, nor 
ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of 
man, the things which God hath prepared for 
them that love him ! ’” 

“Well, well! let’s see the figure inside,” 
he answered, evidently uneasy .at the present 
turn the conversation had taken. 

It was but the work of a few moments for 
Charles to uncover Lombardo’s exquisite rep- 
resentation of “the inner man of the heart,” 
and place it pure and white before him. 

The sick man examined it silently, for a time. 


“ Their Children^ 


32T 


Then he said, suddenly, “Now find that place 
in the Bible where the man got his idea.” 

Charles obeyed, and offered the book to 
Margaret. 

“ No, read it yourself,” the Herr inter- 
posed. “ She’ll have enough to do to ex- 
plain it.” 

There was no escape, and so the young 
man began: “Finally, my brethren, be strong 
in the Lord, and in the power of his might. 
Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be 
able to stand against the wiles of the devil. 
For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, 
but against principalities, against powers, 
against the rulers of the darkness of the world, 
against spiritual wickedness in high places.” 

“ Stand, therefore, having your loins girt 
about with truth, and having on the breastplate 
of righteousness ; and your feet shod with the 
preparation of the gospel of peace. Above 
all, take the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall 
be able to quench all the fiery darts of the 
wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and 
the sword of the spirit, which is the word 
of God.” 


328 


“ Their Children,’’^ 


Here he closed the book and laid it on the 
table. 

“ Now, Margaret, how can a man be strong in 
the Lord ? ” Herr Humbert asked. 

“ By simply trusting him,” she answered, 
eagerly. “ If a bird flew to you for refuge, you 
would protect it for that reason if for no other. 
Can we think God less generous toward those 
he is continually calling to confide in him ? Be- 
lieve me, we are very strong the moment we 
fly to him, because then his almighty power 
is engaged for our defense, precisely as we need 
it. If the Bible declares anything distinctly, it 
is that the strength of God is ours if we will 
take it.” 

“Well, then, what’s the need of all this 
outfit ? If, as you say, a bird came to me for 
refuge, I shouldn’t fix him up in armor and 
set him to defending himself.” 

“ Ah, but begging your pardon, I think you 
would do something very like it. You would 
give him the defense of a cage, in which you 
would provide seed and water, and having hung 
it out of the reach of cats, in a pleasant, sunny 
window, you would leave him to take care of 


“ Their Children.'^^ 


329 


liimself just as far as he was able, while you 
still were ready at any moment to exert your 
superior wisdom and strength on his behalf, 
in case of need.” 

“And no doubt he would reward me by fret- 
ting and pining continually to get away.” 

“No doubt,” Margaret answered, sadly. 
“ That is generally the return we make to 
God for his care. When we get into trouble 
we fly to him for help, and pretend to confide in 
his supreme power and wisdom. Then we fret 
and flutter, and beat our wings against the bars, 
to escape from the very defenses he gives us. 
Oh, the patience of our Father ! ” she ex- 
claimed, fervently, suddenly clasping her hands, 
and as suddenly letting them fall on her lap, 
while a blush overspread her face at thought of 
her own enthusiasm. 

“Well, child, he is patient, if things are 
as you think. But we have this point. I 
get the idea. Presently I shall ponder it 
carefully. Now let us hear wdiat are some of 
the wiles of the devil. No doubt you think 
you know all about ’em, from experience, but 
it’s my belief that he never has had much to 
do with you.” 


330 


Their Children,^'* 


“ That is because 57^ou don’t know me as I 
know myself, and, above all, as God knows me,” 
she replied, gravely. “We must appear very 
different to ourselves and to each other from 
what we do to him. We can have very little 
idea how sin looks to an infinitely holy being ! ” 

The words were simple and simply spoken, 
yet, combined with the profound humility and 
reverence of her manner, they went home to 
the hearts of hfer listeners with great power. 

Herr Humbert had long secretly felt the 
contagion of her implicit belief in and reli- 
ance on tbe existence and protection of an 
unseen but ever-present God. Every day the 
longing grew more intense to be certain she was 
right. What unutterable joy to find the black, 
horrible blank beyond this present, from which 
he shrank wifh ever-increasing dread, changed 
into the brightness and glory to which Margaret 
was ever looking forward. It seemed, in his 
helplessness, that he would give all other knowl- 
edge could he but know this. No price seemed 
too great to give in exchange for a peace like 
Margaret’s. Thoughts like these were 'in his 
mind, even as her words sounded in his ears. 


“ Their Children ^ 


331 


“The devil,” she went on to say, “ is a great . 
flatterer. He is very fond of persuading us 
that we are so good we neither need to be 
forgiven or improved. When he fails in this, he 
is very apt to turn square round and, if possible, 
convince us we are so bad we are beyond all 
pardon. Then, again, he contrives to keep us 
busy about a thousand other things in order that 
we may forget all about it. These are some 
of his simplest wiles, but, as the word implies, he 
is artful and cunning beyond our power to con- 
ceive. He knows every one of us like a 
book. There isn’t a weak place in anj^ of us 
but he knows just the way through it into 
our heart of hearts. And just because this is 
so, we need to fly to God that we may be 
strong. This is why we need the armor, which, 
as you see, is -all for defense, except the 
sword, that being the only piece that can be 
used offensively.” 

“Let me see the figure closer, Charles,” the 
invalid said. “ I declare, it is beautiful ! This 
girdle represents truth, dont it? Now the 
use of such a thing to . a soldier is to bind 
his armor close about him, and hold his sword.” 


332 


“ Their Children.' 


‘‘And cover the unavoidable gaps where 
the upper and lower part of his harness meet 
above his waist,” Charles added. 

“ But, above all, to strengthen him,” Margaret 
added. ‘ Gird up the loins of your mind,' is the 
apostolic injunction. To do this we must 
bind them about with sincerity, truth in every 
emotion, word and act. We can’t be strong 
in the Lord unless our belief in him is true. 
Only when we confide in him with perfect 
sincerity are we strong and courageous. 
Beside, I don’t see how we can be perfectly 
sincere with ourselves or others until , we are 
so with him.” 

“ But, child, there is a great deal of truth 
among men who care nothing for God.” 

“ I know it, dear Herr, but, after all, may not 
the virtue this girdle represents be more perfect 
and exalted than that which passes for truth 
among men ? Isn’t it just because the Christian 
does think and care for God that his sincerity is 
worth more than the other? Neither time 
nor circumstances can change the principle from 
which his truthfulness springs. His soul is 
always seeking to please a God who changes 
not, and who abhors hypocrisy and deceit.” 


“ Their Children,'*'* 


333 


“ But what about those gaps the soldier’s belt 
was intended to hide ? ” inquired Herr Hum- 
bert. “ I suppose they’re not allowed in this 
sort of armor.” 

Margaret laughed, yet sighed, as she an- 
swered, “I’m afraid there are a good many 
imperfections that need to be concealed even 
here, but we are taught that God accepts a 
very lame service, provided the heart that offers 
it has on the girdle.” 

“ How’s that, child,” the student exclaimed, 
hastily. “ I thought nothing short of absolute 
perfection would answer.” 

“Nor will it, in the end,” she returned, 
gently. “ That is the final goal, but it is 
reached by degrees. Suppose I give a little 
child a bit of sewing to do for me. She loves 
me with her whole heart, and bends every 
energy to the task in order to please me. 
Now, no matter how badly the seam may be 
sewed on account of the child’s inability; I 
am entirely satisfied because of the sincerity 
of her love for me, as shown in the fact that she 
has done her very best. I know that if she 
keeps on trying she will one day make a perfect 


834 


“ Their Children.' 


seam, and, meantime, the perfect truthfulness 
of her love for and desire to please me hide 
all the imperfections. In like manner the 
girdle of truth hides all the gaps in the Chris- 
tian’s armor from God.” 

“ How about the seam, if one didn’t begin to 
sew till one was tumbling into the grave ? ” 
he asked, bitterly. 

“ It would make no difference. There would 
still be an eternity to learn to sew in,” she 
replied, the tears springing unbidden to her 
earnest eyes. 

Herr Humbert slowly turned away his head, 
and looked out of the window. He seemed 
lost in thought, but presently roused him- 
self to say, “ What next ? ” 

“The breastplate of righteousness,” Charles 
answered. “ Just examine it closely, and 
see how exquisitely it is wrought.” 

“ I declare ! that Italian was a patient work- 
man,” the Herr exclaimed. “What skill and 
ingenuity he showed in weaving those tiny 
letters among this other delicate carving, and 
still they are plain when one knows how 
they go.” 


“ Their Children,'^'* 


335 


Margaret and Charles exchanged a glance 
and smile of pleasure. After all, Herr Hum- 
bert was beginning to appreciate this art-work 
almost as much as they did. 

“WeU, those old warriors depended very 
much on their breastplates for defense,” he con- 
tinued. ' “They protect the most vital parts 
of the body, so I conclude righteousness stood 
high in Lombardo’s estimation.” 

“ No doubt,” Margaret replied, “ It does *in 
that of everybody who rightly understands 
what is meant by it.” 

“ Don’t I understand ? ” he asked, testily. 

“I can’t say till you give me your idea of it,” 
she replied, smiling. 

“ Well, I take it to be acting up to the 
light one has, that is, doing the best one can. 
Isn’t that it, Charles ? ” 

“ That is hardly my idea, sir. I understand 
righteousness to consist in perfect and per- 
petual obedience to the law of God.” 

“ Do you mean the law as laid down in 
that chapter of Exodus you read to me the 
other day ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 


836 


“ Their Children,'*'^ 


“Well, young man, I have thought pro- 
foundly on that law, and if nobody has on a 
breastplate of righteousness but those who 
have never broken those commandments, there 
never was and never will be a man who wears 
one.’’ Involuntarily he tried to raised a help- 
less hand that he might give emphasis to his 
words with one of those resounding raps so 
often heard on his study table in the old days, 
but he hardly succeeded in raising it from his 
lap, and, thus reminded of his infirmity, he 
sank back feebly in his chair. 

“You are both wrong,” Margaret said, 
brightly. “ Now listen to Lombardo. He 
intended this breastplate to represent ‘ an in- 
ward disposition of the heart sweetly, power- 
fully, constantly inclining the soul to holiness.’ 
As soon as this bit of armor is on one is all 
alert in the service of God. One becomes 
fearless and valorous, just as a timid man will 
fight bravely when his body is well protected 
by his breastplate.” 

“Well, child, this talk of fighting is all very 
splendid, but what’s the need of all this outfit 
and bluster? Where’s the enemy?” 


“ Their Children^ 


337 


For answer Margaret pointed to the twelfth 
verse of that part of the Bible represented by 
the statue, and asked Charles to repeat it. 

He did so, and, as soon as he had finished, 
HeiT Humbert demanded, angrily, “Well, 
what does it all mean?” 

“ To me it means this,” she replied, calmly. 
“ Our foes are not merely the evil inclinations 
within us, and the temptations in the world 
outside, but they are satan and his armies 
who are leagued against God and every living 
soul who would serve him.” 

“A pretty big army for a chit like you to 
fight, even with all your armor on,” he said, 
with that cynical scoff in his tone Charles 
knew so well. “Better run away and hide, 
hadn’t you?” 

For an instant Margaret’s eye flashed, then 
filled with tears, and her lip trembled. 

“That isn’t fair, Herr Humbert,” Charles 
cried, indignantly. “She is certainly standing 
bravely by her colors, and if for our sakes 
she is willing to undertake a dangerous duty, 
we should be the last to bid her run.” 

The invalid sat silent a little while, and 

22 


338 


“ Their Children 


then said, gently, “I see what you mean, 
boy, but you^re mistaken. I wouldn’t say 
one word to shake her faith. I only wish 
she could convince me it is so. I’d be ready 
to face the principalities and powers, and all 
that, if I could find Margaret’s God.” Then 
turning to her, he said, “Never mitid a help- 
less old man, child. Tell me about this white 
warrior’s shoes, and then put him away. I’m 
tired; beside, I want to think it all over.” 

Margaret raised his hand to her lips, and 
then said, smiling, “ The white warrior’s shoes 
are strong and beautiful, you see. ,They are 
an excellent defense for his feet. Shod with 
them, he can go over the stoniest places, or 
through the cold and wet without injury. 
Just so the soul, shod with the gospel of 
peace — peace with God, with himself, with 
his life, though it be full of hindrances, de- 
privations, afflictions — goes on its way, tread- 
ing as lightly as the Irish do, who will trip 
over bogs and quagmires where anybody else 
would sink and stick fast. The foot carries 
the whole body, so the will carries the whole 
soul. So it is, as it were, the soul’s foot. 


“ Their Children,^'* 


339 


If it rests in this soft shoe of peace, it goes 
easily and with alacrity, carrying the soul on 
its way rejoicing.” 

“That’s all very well when you’ve got the 
shoe, but that’s the first thing to be done.” 

Margaret laid her hand lovingly on that of 
the feeble old man, and repeated, slowly, 
“The work of righteousness shall be peace, 
and the effect of righteousness assurance for- 
ever 

“Forever! Assurance forever!” he mur- 
mured. Then, with the abrupt change so 
common to him, he added, “Now run home, 
little girl, and tell your grandmother you’re 
an angel, if ever there was one. I’ll take 
the rest of this stone to-morrow. Can you 
come ? ” 

“ Unless something unusual occurs to pre- 
vent me,” she said, and bidding th^ good 
morning, she went away. 

Herr Humbert was soon asleep, overcome 
with fatigue, but Charles had no need of 
companionship. His dread of this beautiful 
art-work had vanished, where, he did not ask. 
In his own room, witji the delicate bit of 


340 


Their Children J 


sculpture before him, he recalled every word 
Margaret had spoken, often turning to his 
open Bible for confirmation of her words. 
The teachings of his childhood came rushing 
back upon him. He heard his father’s voice, 
he saw his serene, noble face, with its beau- 
tiful but sightless eyes, its halo of silvery 
hair. His mother, too, and his saintly Aunt 
Gretchen, Mabel, his half-sister, his twin sis- 
ter, all were present to his thought. All had 
this armor on. Could he doubt its reality, its 
necessity, its efficacy? Could he be satisfied 
without it? Could he get it? From such 
meditations he was roused by Frau Herman. 

“Does the Herr want a letter?” she asked, 
and la3dng one beside him, she disappeared, 
to see after her dinner. 



CHAPTER XXV. 


HARLES opened the letter in some 
alarm. It bore the Eau Claire post- 
mark, but the handwriting was strange 
to him. He glanced at the signature, 
and saw the name of Alfred Allison, with 
which Gretchen’s letters had made him fa- 
miliar. 

Wondering what the doctor could want with 
him, he began to read, and before turning the 
first page he became wholly absorbed in the 
contents. 

The look of curiosity changed to one of 
anger, his face grew very stem, but gradually 
its expression softened, and when he came to 
the end, he exclaimed, vehemently, “ Thank 
God I one man knows the truth!” Then he 

341 



342 


“ Their Children''* 


went over the letter again, slowly, and with 
great care, then folded it, and put it in an 
inner pocket, just as the dinner-bell rang. 
“ What a letter ! ” he ejaculated, on his way 
to his solitary meal. “ He must be a mag- 
nificent fellow. I hope Gretchen is right 
about him and Mabel.” 

The rest of the day was devoted to Herr 
Humbert, but when all was quiet for the 
night, Franse sat long over his answer to 
Dr. Allison’s communication. Then he went 
to rest with a sense of companionship and 
sympathy, to which he had long been a 
stranger. 

The next morning Herr Humbert was early 
on the watch for Margaret, with Lombardo’s 
work before him, the Bible open at the place, 
and everything ready to proceed with the ex-’ 
planation. 

. “ I’ve been on the lookout for you these 
two hours,” he exclaimed, querulously, when 
the fair girl made her appearance. 

“I’m very sorry, but I didn’t think you 
would begin to expect me so soon,” she said, 
smiling brightly. “ Beside, I had some of 


“ Their Children, 


343 


my sick bodies to look after before I could 
come. Here is another bottle of grandma’s 
cordial. She is delighted that you like it. 
She says if you only knew how she misses 
your society, you would let her come and see 
you.” 

“ She’d better miss it than find it isn’t 
worth having,” he replied, fretfully. “Where’s 
Charles?” 

“Here, sir,” Franse answered, coming in 
from the library, and bidding Margaret a* 
cheerful good morning. 

She saw instantly that the shadow always 
resting on his face was lightened. She had 
often wondered why it was there. Now she 
wondered why it had so nearly disappeared, 
but as she had no clue to either puzzle, she 
was obliged to content herself with being glad 
that he looked less sad. 

She laid aside her wraps, and sat down by 
the invalid, taking one helpless hand in her’s, 
and chafing it gently; but he was irritable, 
and her kindness vexed him. 

“Come, come, girl, go to work. I’m tired 
waiting.” 


344 


“ Their Children^ 


Charles expected some sign of annoyance 
in her look or manner, as she turned at once 
to the marble; but no shade was visible in 
either, as she said, pleasantly, — 

“I’m afraid I can hardly do justice to the 
shield. The command is, ^ Above aZ?, take the 
shield of faith.’” 

“You know. Miss Liebnitz, that in ancient 
warfare the shield was considered the most 
important piece of armor, because it could be 
used so as to protect every part of the person,” 
Charles hastened to say, anxious to assist her 
to make a beginning, well knowing how easily 
her own enthusiasm would bear her on when she 
was once aroused. 

“ Yes ; and it protected the rest of the 
harness,” she replied. 

“ It was a terrible disgrace to lose one’s 
shield,” Herr Humbert said. “You remember 
the Spartan mothers’ injunction to their sons, 
when they armed them for battle, was, ‘ With it 
or on it.^ ” 

“ That is it, dear Herr,” Margaret exclaimed, 
the martial spirit of a soldier coloring her cheek 
and sparkling in her eye. “ ‘ With it or on it ’ 


“ Their Children''* 


345 


is the true watchword of the soul who wears 
this armor. With it he must ward off the 
wicked, and on it the angels shall bear him home 
to his father’s house when the battle is over.” 

“But what is the spiritual shield?” asked 
Charles. “It isn’t simply belief, for we read 
that even the devils believe.” 

Margaret hesitated. Her face, but now so 
radiant, became perplexed, and she seemed at 
a loss how to proceed. “ How shall I explain 
it,” she said, at last. “It is so difficult to 
make it understood, unless it is felt. We can 
never know what it is till we have it. As 
you say, it is not simply an assent to the 
truth, any more than eating is a simple assent to 
the fact that food is nourishing. Faith is the 
very life of the Christian soul. As the body 
is nourished and made strong by assimilating 
suitable food, so is the soul sustained by 
faith. The Bible says the just shall live by 
it, shall walk by it, shall be sanctified and com- 
forted by it, and finally shall be saved by it. 
You remember you said yesterday, that your 
idea of righteousness was a perfect and per- 
petual obedience to God’s law as given to 


346 


“ Their Children.^'* 


Moses. Herr Humbert declared that nobody 
ever has been or ever will be perfect accord- 
ing to that standard. Now, if this is so, and 
there is really a penalty attached to sin, are 
we not shut up to perfect helplessness and 
despair, until we find God’s promise of pardon 
through a Saviour?” She paused a moment, 
but neither spoke, though both were listening 
eagerly. “William Gurnall says,” she went 
on, “ that ‘justifying faith is that act of the 
soul whereby it rests on Christ crucified for 
pardon and life, and that simply on the warrant, 
because of God’s promise, which promise is 
the marriage ring on the hand of faith that 
unites the soul to Christ.’ It seems to me 
that faith is to the soul what breath is to the 
body : without it nothing can live, neither 
truth, righteousness, peace, nor any of those 
Christian virtues represented by this armor.” 

“But these breaths differ. Miss Liebnitz,” 
said Charles, “inasmuch as one is involun- 
tary and the other is not.” 

“I think the analogy will hold good, even 
there,” she replied. “Both breaths are God- 
given, and both are in a sense involuntary. The 


“ Their Children^ 


347 


new-born soul begins to breathe faith as inev- 
itably as the new-born child begins to breathe 
air. We can- stifle both, and so cause feeble- 
ness and death. Yet, if allowed and encour- 
aged to breath freely, both will grow strong, and 
the soul will prove St. Paul a teller of the truth 
when he said what I have already referred to, 
‘ The just shall live by faith.’ ” 

“ If, as you say, faith is God-given, like 
our natural breath, how are we to blame if 
we don’t have it?” Herr Plumbert demanded, 
sharply. “ According to this we have no power 
in the matter.” 

“You are right and you are wrong, dear 
Herr,” Margaret said. “We have and again we 
haven’t. Spiritual life is unquestionably God’s 
gift, but it is always bestowed on the honest 
seeker. ‘ Him that cometh to me, I will in 
no wise cast out.’ The act of coming is ours to 
perform, the gift is G^d’s, but surely we 
can’t imagine him so unreasonable as to with- 
hold from us faith, without which he ex- 
pressly declares it is impossible to please him. 
Oh, the great Apostle spoke advisedly, when 
he likened faith to a shield ! If we have 


348 


“ Their Children^ 


this defense we shall be more than conquer- 
ors. With him we shall be persuaded that 
‘ neither death nor life, nor angels nor principal- 
ities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things 
to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other 
creature shall be able to separate us from the 
love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our 
Lord!”’ 

As she repeated the glowing words her face 
grew rapturous with emotion, her eyes dark- 
ened and lifted themselves to the sky just 
seen through the open window, and then 
came slowly back to rest brimful of tears 
upon her old friend, while again the ever 
ready color crept up to her white brow. 

Herr Humbert, who always shrank from the 
manifestation of strong feeling, turned toward 
the statue, saying, “ Only two more pieces, 
the helmet and the sword; what of them?” 

“ ‘ And for a helm-et the hope of salva- 
tion, ’ ” she said, resuming her quiet manner. 
“We all know the power of hope in every 
day life ; what a spur it is to action, what a 
defense against discouragement. It is ever 
urging us on toward some future good. ‘So 


“ Their Children,^’’ 


349 


when the soul by faith closes with the prom- 
ise as a true and faithful word, then it is 
lifted up by hope to wait for the perform- 
ance of it.’ Mr. Gurnall, from whom I have 
just quoted, says farther, ‘ The promise is, as 
it were, God’s love-letter to his church and 
spouse, in which he opens his very heart, 
and tells all he means to do for her. Faith 
reads and embraces it with joy, whereupon 
the beheving soul, by hope, looks out of this 
window with a longing expectation to see his 
chariot come in the accomplishment of it.’ 
This hope of salvation, which of course in- 
cludes all the particular blessings God has in 
store for us, is to the soul what the helmet 
is to the soldier; and just as men will endure 
hardship and toil in the hope of wealth, fame, 
and a thousand other temporary advantages, 
so the Christian, with this piece of armor se- 
curely fixed, is a Samson for strength, a Job 
for patience, while pressing toward the mark 
for the prize of the high calling of God in 
Christ Jesus. Gurnall says that ‘hope goes 
into the field and waits on the Christian till 
the last battle is fought and the field cleared, 


850 


“ Their Qhildren.^^ 


and then faith and hope together carry him 
in the chariot of the promise to the Saviour’s 
door, where they deliver him up into the 
hands of love and joy, which stand ready to 
conduct him into the blissful presence of 
God.’ ” 

“How much of what you say Antonio and 
Lombardo have contrived to express in the 
faces of this inner and outer man,” said 
Charles, breaking the silence that fell upon 
them for a little time when Margaret paused. 
“ They must both have made it a profound 
study.” 

“Not so much that as an experience^^"^ she 
replied. “You may be certain they made 
these figures, as it were, out of their own 
hearts.” 

“And you are interpreting them to us out 
of yours,” Herr Humbert said, with unusual 
gentleness. “Now let’s hear about the sword, 
and then this young man and I will have 
enough to quarrel over for some time to come.” 

“I think your quarrel will not be with 
each other but with a common enemy, when 
you have carefully examined the sword of the 


“ Their Children.’’’ 


351 


Spirit, which is the word of God,” Margaret 
said, soberly. ‘‘ Unlike the rest, this last piece 
of armor has a double office ; it is not only 
for defense, but with it the war can be car- 
ried into the enemy’s country. The great 
armorer, who forged this weapon is the Holy 
Spirit of God. ‘ The word of God is quick 
and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged 
sword, piercing even to the dividing of the 
soul and spirit, and of the joints and mar- 
row, and is a discerner of the thoughts and 
intents of the heart.’ Still, the sword is of 
no use either for, attack or defense until some 
arm wields it. The soldier must be in con- 
stant practice with his sword-arm if he would 
be victorious.” 

“But he must be taught. Miss Liebnitz.” 

“True, and in this case the teacher is the 
maker. The Spirit of God is the only true 
interpreter of the word. He alone can give 
it its ’ full power and efficacy in the soul. I 
believe it is the experience of all faithful 
students of the Bible, that it contains a 
wealth of meaning, a hidden power they 
would never find for themselves. It is not 


352 


Their Children^ 


seen till read in the divine light of God’s 
Spirit. And why is this to be wondered at? 
Don’t we see something very like it in our 
every day affairs? Set a child to reading the 
work of some mature and cultivated mind, 
and he will often fail to find more than ibhe 
surface meaning until some one older and 
wiser makes it plain to him. Is it strange, 
then, that the thoughts of an infinite God 
need a divine interpreter?” 

“But do we always have it. Miss Lieb- 
nitz?” 

“Yes, always, when we want it enough to 
ask for it sincerely.” 

“How do you know that, Margaret?” Herr 
Humbert demanded, fixing his keen eyes upon 
her. 

“Because,” she said, meeting the look with 
gentle confidence, “He has said, ‘If any of 
you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who 
giveth to all men liberally and upbraideth 
not, and it shall he given him^^ 

“But why ask, if you believe God knows 
all our wants beforehand,” he returned. 

“To me His commands seem a sufficient 


“ Their Children''' 


853 


reason,” she said, modestly. “ But there are 
many reasons that, with your powers of 
thought, cannot fail to occur to you as you 
look more profoundly into the subject, and 
study the Bible. I will only speak of one, 
the influence of prayer on ourselves. Imagine 
Herr Franse to be an ignorant lad, and your 
son. You have it in your power to give him 
every advantage of education, society, and 
wealth. You tell him so, you try to make 
him understand the value of these things, but 
he cares nothing for them, and goes his own 
way. You don’t force them on him, but 
only tell him they are his whenever he asks 
for them. Presently he begins to see them 
in their true light, yet he will not tell you 
so, neither will he ask you to give him what 
he needs. He says, ‘My father knows all 
about it. If he has a mind to give it to me, 
very well. I shan’t ask him.’ Now, wouldn’t 
you very probably wait till the desire grew 
strong enough to overcome the pride ? As 
the human mind is constituted, wouldn’t you 
thus increase the longing? We all know that 
what comes to us with no effort on our part 
23 


354 


‘ ‘ Their Children, ’ 


is but little prized, and this is one among 
many reasons why we are bidden to pray, 
why we often have to repeat our prayers 
many times. While waiting, we see our de- 
sires in a variety of attractiveness that would 
never unfold itself, did we at once clasp them 
to our hearts. Thus our appreciation of their 
worth keeps pace with the delay. I want to 
give you a few more of Gurnall’s words, and 
then I’ll have done. He says, ‘ One reason 
why prayer is so necessary a means with our 
other armor for defense, is taken from the co- 
ordination of this duty with all other means 
for the Christian’s defense, and that by 
divine appointment. He that bids us take 
the girdle of truth, breastplate of righteous- 
ness, &;c., commands us also not to neglect 
this duty. Now, what God has joined we 
must not sever. The efficacy of co-ordinate 
means lies in their conjunction. The force 
of an army lies not in this troop, or in that 
one regiment, but in all the parts in a body. 
And if any single troop or company shall pre- 
sume to fight the enemy alone, what can they 
expect but to be routed by the enemy, and 


“ Their Children,^^ 


355 


punished by their general also? Let not any 
say they use this means and that; if any one 
be willingly neglected, the golden chain of 
obedience *is broken. And as to a good action, 
there is required a concurrence of all the 
several ingredients and causes; so to make a 
good Christian, there is required a conscien- 
tious care to use all appointed means: he must 
follow the Lord fully, not make here a balk 
and there a furrow. It is not the least of 
Satan’s policy to get between one duty and 
another, that a man may not unite his forces 
and be uniform in his endeavor. There are 
few so bad as to use no means, and not many 
so faithful to God and themselves as consci- 
entiously to use all. One pretends to sin- 
cerity, and dares appeal to God that he 
means well, and his heart is good; but for 
the breastplate of righteousness, it is too heavy 
and cumbersome for him to wear. Another 
seems very just and righteous, so that he 
would not wrong his neighbor, no, not of one 
penny to gain many pounds: but as for faith 
in Christ, this he never looks after. The 
third boasts of his faith and hope, as if he 


356 


Their Children.'*^ 


did not doubt of his salvation, but as for the 
word of God, that should beget and increase 
it, he cares not how seldom he looks on it 
at home, or hears it in public. And a fourth, 
he hath this to say for himself: that he is a 
constant hearer, his seat at church is seldom 
empty, and at home his Bible is often in his 
hand, but as for prayer, his closet bears wit- 
ness against him that he seldom or never 
performs it. This half doing will prove 
many a soul’s undoing. Samuel asked Jesse, 
Are here all thy children? Though but a 
stripling wanting, he must be sent for be- 
fore he will sit down. So I may say to some 
who are very busy and forward in some par- 
ticular duties and means. Is here all that God 
has given thee in charge ? If but one be 
wanting, God’s blessing will be wanting also. 
And a^ that son was wanting of J esse’s, 
which God did intend to set the crown upon, 
so that duty and means that is most neg- 
lected we have cause to think is the means 
which God would especially crown with his 
blessing upon our faithful ‘endeavor.’ But, 
dear me ! ” she sighed, wearily, as she pushed 


“ Their Children''* 


35T 


back the masses of golden hair from her fore- 
head, “the whole subject is so vast, so in- 
finitely above my power to make it plain, 
that I feel utterly discouraged and dissatisfied.” 

“Then you have no idea of what you have 
done, child,” the invalid exclaimed. “No 
wonder you feel so, because from having lived 
long in this field of thought you have learned 
something of its extent. But, remember, you 
have brought Charles and me to the entrance, 
and made us eager to go on exploring. If 
we ever get any of this wealth, we shall have 
to thank you for it.” 

“We shall, indeed,” Charles said, in a tone 
that showed how strongly he had been moved 
by the fair girl’s words. 

“ Thank you ! ” she returned, simply. “It 
is little I have done.” And with a bow and 
smile, she took up her hat and left the room. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 



HE finding of Lombardo’s exquisite 
representation of the inner man of 
the heart, had completely revolution- 
ized the life of both Herr Humbert 
and Charles Franse. 

•The scientist, with the eager impetuosity so 
characteristic of him, plunged heart and soul 
into the investigation of religious truth, and 
Charles, as his medium of study, found him- 
self suddenly launched upon a wide sea of 
theological inquiry. But his morbid shrinking 
was gone. Margaret seemed always to attend 
him, as indeed she often did in reality, and 
even without this subtle charm, the subject 

358 




“ Their Children J*"* 


359 


had come to have for him an intense interest 
of its own. 

Herr Humbert’s studies were carried on in 
an entirely different spirit from what Charles 
had expected. If he challenged a statement, 
it was with no captious desire to prove it 
false. The helpless invalid was only too 
ready to find peace in believing, if it could 
be found, and as it has always been with 
those who bring a teachable spirit to the 
study of the Bible, both Herr Humbert and 
his assistant could at last exclaim, with the 
poet, — 

“ This book, this holy book, on every line 
Marked with the stamp of high divinity ; 

On every leaf bedewed with drops of love 
Divine, and with the eternal heraldry 
And signature of God Almighty stamped 
From first to last, this ray of sacred light. 

This lamp from oif the everlasting throne 
Mercy took down, and in the night of time 
Stood, casting on the dark his gracious bow. 

And ever more beseeching men, with tears 
And earnest sighs, to read, believe, and live.” 

For weeks they read, for weeks they stud- 
ied, and all the time a gentle woman’s heart 
plead earnestly that God would bless them. 


360 


“ Their Children''* 


plead till one day Heri* Humbert said> as she 
sat down beside him for a little chat, on her 
way to Fraulien Hine, “Margaret, child, you 
have conquered. It is all true. God has 
mercifully put the feet of my wicked old soul 
into his shoes of peace. I’m getting on the 
armor as fast as I can. I want to do a little 
fighting before I die. But, oh, child, if I 
had only — ” He stopped abruptly, then added, 
has, the boy, I mean.” 

“Are you sure of it?” Margaret cried, 
with an unfeigned delight, that impressed her 
old friend strongly, and set him thinking. 

“I’m certain of it. I know it, child, and 
it’s all your doing, under God. Didn’t I say 
you were an angel?” 

Margaret was too overjoyed for words, but 
her heart must utter itself, and so had re- 
source in tears. She tried her best to keep 
them back, but come they would, and so 
Charles found her, with her face hidden in 
her handkerchief. 

Herr Humbert saw the look of pained sur- 
prise with wliich he regarded her. “ Joy, boy, 
nothing but joy,” he exclaimed. “I’ve been 


“ Their Children. 


361 


telling her that she hasn’t labored over iis for 
nothing. If I’m not mistaken, she has got 
two as honest but as raw recruits as ever came 
to fight under her Captain. But we shall 
improve, we shall improve with her for a drill- 
master.” 

It was a very happy, rosy, tearful face that 
came out of the handkerchief to answer the old 
man, but Charles spoke first. 

“ If joy makes you cry. Miss Liebnitz,” he 
said, “I’m glad you never can know the half 
you have done for me. God only knows 
into what depths of unbehef I was falling 
when you discovered the secret of the bronze.” 

“AIL because of my infidel books,” the in- 
valid broke in. “I thought I was doing my old 
friend a service when I brought his son home 
with me, but I came near being his ruin. And, 
boy, now I think of it. I’ll have a bonfire of all 
those lying volumes. See here, Margaret,” 
he went on, eagerly, seized with a sudden 
thought, “your good grandmother shall come 
and see ’em burnt. Tell her I’m not going 
to shut myself up any more. Can she come to- 
morrow? ” 


362 


“ Their Children,’'^ 


“ She will be only too happy to come, when- 
ever you say,” replied Margaret, her face radi- 
ant with pleasure. 

“Well, then, to-morrow. Charles will make 
them all ready to-day.” 

But the next was one of those feeble, dark 
days that frequently came into the invalid’s cal- 
endar. Margaret said he had over-fatigued 
himself, and insisted on his seeing the doctor, to 
whom he said, when he came to the bedside, 
“ I’ve found it. Doctor ; that remedy you have 
been trying to discover for me, but it’s for the 
soul instead of the body. Now, I don’t care 
whether you patch me up or not.” 

But he was patched up, and Madam Liebnitz 
came to see him. She thought she was fully 
prepared for the change, but she could not 
control an involuntary start of surprise and pain 
at sight of him^ She knew that he noticed 
it from the look of anguish that quivered in his 
face, but it soon passed, and then came an hour 
of genuine enjoyment. The books were 
burned, and when Charles came in from doing 
it, Herr Humbert bade him lay the Bible on his 
lap and place his feeble hands upon it. “ By 


“ Their Children."''^ 


363 


those I have lived, by this I will die,” he said, 
solemnly. “ My lifelong mistake has been in 
supposing that in the study of matter and 
the laws that govern, I should arrive at all 
truth. Margaret has shown me my folly. She 
has opened to me that wisdom which ‘was 
set up from everlasting, from the beginning, 
or ever the earth was ; while as yet He had not 
made earth, nor the fields, nor the highest part 
of the dust of the world.’ Now if God 
lets me live, I’m going, with Charles’ help, 
to review the .old studies in the light of the 
new. I am convinced that whatever antag- 
onism there may seem to exist between them, 
lies in our imperfect knowledge of both. As 
each is the work of one infinite mind, they must 
in reality harmonize perfectly. If I can help 
ever so little in saving one soul from falling 
into the darkness that surrounded me in the 
days when I called myself strong in body 
and wise above my feUows, I’ll be a happier 
man than I have ever been before.” 

“ It is an object worth living for, and I trust 
you may have strength to accomplish it,” 
Madam Liebnitz said, warmly, “but the task 
will be no easy one.” 


864 


“ Their Children,'’^ 


“ Easy, who wants it to be easy ! ” exclaimed 
the scientist, irritably. “ I’ve been stumbling 
up against obstacles all my life long, and the 
happiest moments I’ve known have been 
those when, after a hard fight with some knotty 
question, I’ve seen the obstinate thing obliged 
to yield.” 

“Fight away, then,” Madam Liebnitz re- 
turned, laughing, as she rose, to go, “ and may 
the blessing of God attend you ! ” 

The summer was rapidly passing, while 

Herr Humbert and Charles were thus absorbed 

# 

in their new studies, when one day there 
came to them the announcement of those events 
at Eau Claire with which the reader is already 
familiar. The letter was from Allison, and con- 
tained the first intimation Franse had received 
of the change in his sister’s health. It was 
carefuUy worded, but he instinctively felt that 
the worst was not told him. The fact of 
Mabel’s marriage having occurred before her en- 
gagement had been confided to him, was, in 
itself, proof of some sudden change, some unex- 
pected hurry, which he was not slow to attri- 
bute to the cause. But with his alarm and 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


365 


distress there mingled an intense joy at 
thought of seeing Gretchen. A few weeks be- 
fore he would have avoided such a meeting at 
all hazards. In the morbid self-absorption that 
then bound him, he would have thought it im- 
possible to meet her with the frank, protecting 
love of other days, while he hid from her the 
one shadow that so darkened his whole inner 
life. Now, though all outward circumstances 
were the same, he was wholly changed. He 
was now in a clear atmosphere, a strong light 
that filled him with cheerfulness, courage and 
hope. Now, he felt himself strong, not in nat- 
ural pride or fortitude' or stoicism, but in the 
Lord. Already his soul was beginning to 
tread lightly over the rough places; its feet 
no longer bled; they were rapidly healing in 
the soft shoes of peace. His whole bearing 
was changed. It seemed as if the currents 
of his being, having been mysteriously chilled, 
were now all warmed and set again in motion. 
How they bounded at thought of holding 
Gretchen once more in his arms! Was it not 
a compensation for the hour when he turned 
away from her at Lausanne ? In his delight he 


366 


“ Their ChildrenJ^^ 


almost lost sight of the reason for her coming. 

Nor was Mabel forgotten. It was not his 
fault that they had parted coldly. He had 
never blamed her. She could not understand ; 
how should she? He loved her next to 
Gretchen, and it gave him unmixed pleasure 
to think of Allison as her husband,, the man 
of all others he most longed to see and know. 
Altogether, he carried a very happy face into 
Madam Liebnitz’s parlor on the evening of the 
day on which the letter came, and told her 
of the news in the same spirit he would have 
gone to his mother when a boy. 

“I heartily rejoice with you,” she said, cor- 
dially. “I’m glad for our own sakes, too. 
Margaret and I both want to know your 
sister. Why will it not be best to bring her 
directly here? If she is not well, a hotel is 
no place for her. We are near Herr Humbert’s, 
we have abundant room not only for her, but for 
the doctor and his wife beside. Many an in- 
valid has been nursed back to health in my 
large south chamber.”, 

“ How kind you are ! ” Charles exclaimed, 
gratefully. “ But neither Gretchen nor I would 


“ Their Children, 


36T 


think of giving you so much trouble.’’ 

“ Put pleasure in the place of trouble, and 
then see about it,” she returned, her beautiful 
face glowing with hospitality. “ But never 
mind, now,” she added, “wait till she comes.” 

The matter was decided before that time, 
however, by a telegram from Dr. Alhson, sent 
immediately upon landing. It read thus : “ If 
possible, secure us a private boarding-house. 
Gretchen much fatigued by her voyage. Shall 
take her by easy stages to Leipsic. Hope to be 
with you in a few days.” 

“ Let this decide you,” said Madam Liebnitz. 
“Bring her directly here, where she will be 
quiet and comfortable. Beside, Margaret can 
give her the full benefit of her care and experi- 
ence.” 

Perhaps it is needless to add that Charles 
yielded. Of course he did. What man 
wouldn’t ? And if the prospect of passing long 
hours with his darling sister in Madam Lieb- 
nitz’s south chamber was any more attractive 
because possibly her needs might bring another 
sweet face into it, who shall blame him. If, by 
this time, he didn’t love Margaret Liebnitz, 


368 


“ Their Childrenr 


he must certainly be very different from most 
young men of his age. But we will not inquire 
too closely. If he kisses the book or paper on 
which her firm, well-formed hand has rested, in 
the name of all that is kind let us not tell of it. 
If he throws himself prostrate along the stairs 
over which her tripping feet have passed, 
and lays his face upon them, let us, by all 
means, keep out of the way till he gets up. 
Love finds for itself many ways of expression, 
which, as such, are sacred, and woe to him who 
translates them into cold language, prints them 
in a book, and so defiles them. 

But even Margaret was forgotten, when at 
last Charles folded Gretchen in his arms. She 
uttered no sound. Pale and wan she lay upon 
his breast, her face full of unutterable joy and 
love, but, alas, how changed ! Franse could not 
hide his amazement and distress as he gazed 
at her. 

“ Yes, Charley dear,” she said, at last, 
smiling up at him. “ I don’t look as. I did 
when we parted ; but never mind ; now we 
are together perhaps I’ll get stronger.” 

“ We’d better take her to her room at once,” 


“ Their Children,^'' 


369 


Allison said. “Shall I carry you, Gretchen?” 

“ No, let Charley, please. I’m not too heavy, 
am, I, darling ? ” and she twined her arms close 
about his neck, as he raised her in his strong 
arms. 

Matgaret at once led the way to the room 
they had prepared, cool, fragrant and shady. 
Charles laid his precious burden down tenderly, 
and then drew Mabel affectionately to him with 
one arm while he gave the other hand to 
Allison in a hearty grasp of welcome. Mean- 
time, Margaret was busy with the invalid, 
and her tact and skill instantly began to re- 
veal itself to Allison’s quick observation. 

“Who is this sweet girl?” he asked of 
Charles, in an undertone. 

“Is it possible I have forgotten to intro- 
duce her ! ” Franse exclaimed. “ Miss Marga- 
ret, forgive me. You know these friends of 
mine, but it seems they need to be told that you 
are the Miss Liebnitz of whom they have often 
heard through my letters. This is her grand- 
mother’s house,” he went on, turning to Alli- 
son, “and when you telegraphed for private 
quarters, she insisted on your all coming here.” 
24 


370 


Their ChildrenJ^^ 


“ How kind ! ” Gretchen murmured. “ Tins 
room seems full of peace.” 

“ I can never tell you how kind she , has 
been to me,” Charles said, turning again to 
his sister, but Margaret interfered. 

“ Dear Mrs. Blakemere, don’t you think these 
gentlemen are very much in the way ? What 
if we send them down stairs to see grandma ? ” 

“ Miss Liebnitz is right, Franse, we are in 
the way here just now,” Allison said. 

At this, Charles bent over his sister with the 
loving protection in his manner she had always 
known. “I shall not leave the house, dar- 
hng, till I have seen you again. When you are 
rested, I will come back. Now go to sleep.” 

“ Oh, Charley,” she whispered, “ don’t ever 
leave me again.” 

“ Never,” he returned, pressing a lingering 
kiss on her lips. Then he followed Allison 
from the room, and Mabel closed the door after 
them. Had she seen the cordial grasp of their 
hands, the eager look in their faces the instant 
they found themselves alone, her astonishment 
would have been great, but her attention was 
given to aiding Margaret to undress Gretchen, 


“ Their Children J 


371 


and get her comfortably settled in the delicious 
bed, where she soon fell asleep, utterly weary 
from emotion and long journeying. 

“ Now, Mrs. Allison, please come to your 
room and rest,” the young hostess urged, draw- 
ing Mabel’s arm within her own. “ I’m sure 
you are very tired.” 

“ I can’t deny it,” Mabel returned. “ Our 
journey has been very fatiguing. Sometimes 
we have been afraid poor Gretchen would not 
live to get here ; but now she is with Charles, I 
believe she will be better.” 

Margaret said nothing, but gathering up 
Mabel’s hat and traveling bag, led the way into 
an adjoining room that opened directly from 
the one they first entered. 

“ Grandma thought you would like this be- 
cause it is so convenient to Mrs. Blakemere,” 
she said. “ I will send you a luncheon, and 
then perhaps you will lie down until dinner- 
time. I will attend to Mrs. Blakemere, and 
Herr Franse will see after the Doctor ; so for 
the next three hours you need have no thought 
for anybody but yourself.” Then she gave her 
a kiss and went away. She found the gentle- 


372 


Their Children,'*^ 


men slowly pacing up and down the broad path 
that formed the centre of a little fruit and 
flower garden at the back of the house. 
Madam Liebnitz was sitting near one of the 
long windows that opened upon a vine-covered 
porch, from which steps led down to the 
path. 

“ Maggie, dear,” she said, as the girl came to 
her side, “ these people are all very interesting. 
There’s something amiss somewhere, and it 
makes itself felt in all their lives. The expres- 
sion of these two faces has been a perfect study. 
Young Franse seems to have been through 
the whole range of emotion; sorrow, anger, 
gratitude, love, scorn, and I hardly know what 
beside, have chased each other across his face. 
Do you suppose he has been jilted by some fair 
American ? ” 

At these words Margaret started as if in 
sudden pain. Her face crimsoned, then turned 
very pale; then she laughed nervously, and 
said, “how should I know, grandma? ” then 
added, after a moment, “Mrs. Alhson said 
just now he had never loved anybody as he does 
his sister.” 


“ Their Children.'^'’ 


373 


“What could have made him leave her, 
then ? ” queried the stately dame, while Charles 
said to Allison: “How did you persuade her 
to come without him ? ” 

“ It was not difficult when she was coming 
to you,” he replied. “ Mr. Blakemere is 
changed, and I think she feels it without sus- 
pecting the cause. She has pined for you 
sadly.” 

“I didn’t think that possible, while she had 
her husband ; but what excuse did he make for 
not accompanying her ? ” 

“I don’t know, but my impression is the 
subject was not mentioned between them.” 

“Poor child?” Charles ejaculated, “I’m 
afraid she has suffered, in spite of me.” 

“Yes, from the separation, but now that 
is passed,” Allison said, cheerfully. 

“ Of course Philip went with her to New 
York?” 

“No, she preferred to part with him at the 
cottage. I begged Blakemere not to let her 
excite herself, and he was very calm. So 
was she, for that matter, but it was a calm- 
ness one is afraid of.” 


374 


“ Their Children'^ 


“Tell me the truth, Allison,” Charles said, 
stopping short in the walk and facing his 
companion. “Is Gretchen in danger of her 
life?” 

“ Without great care she is, Franse,” the 
doctor said, looking the young man frankly in 
the face. “ But with it, she may regain a 
measure of health, may even have long 
life.” 

“Where is the trouble?” 

“With the heart. Therefore much depends 
01^ keeping her cheerful and free from ex- 
citement.” 

“What has brought this upon her.” 

“It would be hard to answer that question, 
Franse,” the doctor said, evasively. “ No 
doubt many causes have united. All we can 
do now is to remove them as far as possible. 
For one thing, don’t be parted from your 
sister if you can help it. Her life seems 
bound up in you.” 

“ I was a coward to run away and leave 
her,” Charles exclaimed, in a tone of strong 
self-reproach. 

“Nay, nay, my dear fellow, don’t blame 


Their Children. 


375 


yourself. I don’t see what else you could 
have done. But there are Miss Liebnitz and 
her magnificent grandmother by the window. 
Let us go in.” 



CHAPTER XXVII. 


RETCHEX woke from her sleep much 
refreshed, but the doctor would not 
allow her to rise, and so during the 
evening while Mabel went to the par- 
lor, Charles and his twin sister sat alone together 
in the quiet chamber. Gretchen said little. 
With her eyes fastened on her brother’s face, 
and her hand in his, her ear drank in the 
sound of his familiar voice, the words he 
spoke making but little impression on her 
mind, so absorbed was she in the rapture of 
being with him. Her peace seemed like the re- 
pose that waits upon the close of cruel torture, 
and from that hour she began to mend. At 
first her improvement was slow, but afterw^i-rd 

376 



“ Their Children.^' 


37T 


it went on with surprising rapidity. The end 
of the first month found her with more 
strength and color than had been her’s for 
the six previous ones, and meantime she had 
won the love not only of Madam Liebnitz 
and Margaret, but of Herr Humbert also. 
She never tired of talking with the feeble 
old man about the beautiful white warrior, in 
which she took a keen interest, not only for 
its own sake, but because of its connection 
with the little temple at Eau Claire. She 
loved it also for what it had done for Charles, 
though she had but a faint idea of the 
change its discovery had wrought in him. 
Yet she knew that he was becoming very 
Strong, and patient, and tender, and cheerful, 
that at times he was almost as merry as a 
child; -therefore she trusted the trouble, what- 
ever it was, had gone, and so in her trustful- 
ness forebore all questions. How her brother 
blessed her for her silence ! 

Meantime it came about that Margaret 
Liebnitz saw Charles Franse in a new and 
most attractive light. She saw that he was 
no ordinary man, and she became very curious 
as to his past history. 


378 


“ Their Children.^'' 


It also came about that Allison and Mabel, 
thus relieved from their close attendance upon 
Gretchen, found time for that quiet enjoy- 
ment of each other’s society they had so un- 
selfishly put aside in the interest of another. 
Together they roamed over the quaint old 
city of Leipsic, till they knew it all by heart. 
As the invalid grew stronger, they extended 
their excursions in various directions, some- 
times being absent for days. 

Letters came constantly from Blakemere, 
full of love for his absent wife, but their 
effect upon her seemed always depressing. 

Lottie wrote often, giving merry accounts 
of life at the cottage, and bidding Gretchen 
not to worry on Philip’s account, as he was* 
a much better boy when she was gone. 

Still the time approached when Allison 
must return, and he began seriously to urge 
Gretchen to remain with Charles for the 
winter. “ In the spring he will bring you 
home, or your husband will come for you,” 
he said. 

This plan was warmly seconded by all, es- 
pecially hy Charles, as he had strong reasons 


“ Their Children''^ 


379 


for not wishing to go back to Eau Claire, 
yet he was determined not again to part 
with his sister. He was also very reluctant, 
to leave Herr Humbert, to whose comfort he 
seemed indispensable. 

But Gretchen’s consent still lingered. “Let 
me think of it a little longer,” she would say, 
and so October found them. 

Allison and Mabel were to sail in the be- 
ginning of November, and there was but one 
• more excursion to make, reserved till the last, 
that Gretchen and Charles might accompany 
them. This was to Pillnitz, in Saxon Switz- 
erland, where the twins could visit the home 
to which their father and his sister Gretchen 
went every summer for rest and vacation. 

The journey was made in a few hours, 
and was followed by days of quiet sight- 
seeing among the mountains, as Gretchen’s 
strength would allow. 

“I wish we could explore that wonderful 
glen called the Ottowalder Grund,” Charles 
exclaimed, as the party sat together one even- 
ing in the gathering twilight. 

“What is there to prevent, Charley?” 
Gretchen asked. 


880 


“ Their Children,'*'* 


“I’m afraid it would be too fatiguing; it 
must be done on foot,” he replied. 

“ Too fatiguing for me, you mean,” she 
said, laughing; “but I can stay here while 
the rest of you go.” 

“ O, certainly ; it’s no matter about your 
seeing the glen,” he said, patting her affec- 
tionately on the cheek, “but they say it is 
really very wonderful. After passing through 
it you come out very near the verge of the 
Bastion, an immense precipice, from which • 
you get the most splendid view in the whole 
district,” 

“Why couldn’t we take a light litter and 
carry our self-sacrificing Madam on it when 
she was tired?” Allison suggested. “We 
are pretty strong and sure-footed, and she is 
not very heavy.” 

“Just the thing, doctor,” Charles exclaimed; 
“will you trust us, sis?” 

“I’m not afraid,” she said, laughing, “but 
how cruel I should be to pemfit such a 
thing?” 

“ Why, it would be perfectly charming ! ” 
insisted Mabel. “ Don’t say a word, Gretchen ; 
they can do it as well as not.” 


“ Their Children,'* 


381 


After a little more urging Gretchen con- 
sented, and the gentlemen went out to make 
the necessary arrangements for putting the 
plan in execution on the following day. 

“ Mabel,” Gretchen said, . when they were 
alone, an’d the shadows had deepened so their 
faces were hidden from each other, “ I’ve 
thought of Philip continually to-day. The 
letter I received from him this morning has 
decided me to stay with Charles for the win- 
ter. He urges it strongly, and I believe, on 
the whole, it is best. Still, if I obeyed my 
impulses, I should go back with you. Life 
is so uncertain I so many things may happen 
during the long months before spring ! ” 

“But you are so much better, dear,” Ma- 
bel said, cheerfully, for there was a despond- 
ency in Gretchen’s voice that disturbed her 
strangely. 

“ So I am, and Alfred thinks I will go on 
improving; but, after all, who can tell?” 

Then Mabel heard the rustle of paper, and 
Gretchen slipped a letter in her hand. 

“ Don’t think me foolish,” she pleaded, “ but 
I’ve carried this about with me for days. It 


382 


“ Their Children,"*^ • 


is for my husband. Don’t give it to him 
unless something happens to me before we 
meet. If there does, I want him to have it. 
I didn’t mean to give it to you till just before 
you sailed, but something impels me to do 
it now.” 

At this moment the gentlemen returned 
with the intelligence that all was ready for 
an early start in the morning, and Allison 
insisted that the ladies should make a long 
night of it in order to be thoroughly rested. 

As soon as Mabel was alone with her husband 
she told him what had passed between Gfetchen 
and herself. He made but little comment at 
first, though he listened gravely, but seeing how 
Mabel’s fears had been roused by the incident, 
he said, “Don’t be troubled, little wife. It’s 
no more than natural when she thinks of 
staying behind, and the long winter that is to 
come between her and Blakemere. She will 
forget about it by to-morrow.” So Mabel, 
accustomed to confide very much in her hus- 
band’s judgment, was comforted, and soon fell 
asleep. 

In the bright morning light all things looked 


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Among the Mountains. Page 383. 




“ Their Children,'^'* 


383 


hopeful. They were early on their way, -which 
led them through avenues of stately trees, and 
beside a deep glen, down which rolled a beau- 
tiful mountain stream. 

After riding some distance they came to a 
village, where they were to leave their carriage, 
and pursue their way along a narrow footpath. 
Soon they entered the ravine, and found them- 
selves walled in on either hand by perpendicular 
rocks, that rose to so great a height as almost 
to shut out the sun. The defile was extremely 
narrow, but not difficult of ascent, and by going 
slowly, Gretchen made her way with compara- 
tive ease, yet she was conscious of a singular 
oppression, whether of mind or body she could 
not tell, which seemed to come from the gloom 
and strangeness of the way. She felt as' if the 
ponderous walls were gradually closing upon 
her, with a slow but inevitable approach she 
was utterly helpless to evade. Presently they 
came to a mass of rock that had fallen from 
above and lodged high up between the walls so 
as to form a natural roof, called “The Gate,” 
under which they passed, and sat down on the 
other side to rest. 


384 


“ Their Children,^'' 


“ What does this make you think of, 
Gretchen?” Charles asked, seeing her eyes 
wander up and down the gloomy way. 

“It seems to me like some peoples’ lives,” 
she said, sadly. “ They are shut in by high 
walls to a narrow, difficult path, where little or 
no sunshine ever comes.” 

“And some of them find the way toilsome 
and dreary enough, I’m afraid,” said Mabel. 

“ Ours would be if it wasn’t for the hope of 
that broad outdook we’re coming to presently,” 
Allison remarked. 

“ That is it,” Charles exclaimed, with enthu- 
siasm. “ The way is easy to us because we are 
at peace with it, and are cheered by faith and 
hope in the future. How easy life seems when 
one is armed for it.” He sprang up lightly, 
and assisted Gretchen to rise. 

“ Thank God, dear Charley, you are armed,” 
she whispered. “ Oh, if Philip was also ! ” 

“ He will be some day, darling. I’m sure of 
it,” he said, cheerfully, holding her a moment 
in his arms, and kissing her fair brow, while the 
others went on their way. 

Presently Allison insisted that she should be 


“ Their Children.'^'’ 


385 


carried on the litter, which, till now, had been 
useless. She laughingly consented, though 
declaring she was not tired, but the doctor’s 
practised eye detected a changeful color, a 
peculiar light in the eye, that he did not like. 

“I wish she hadn’t come ! ” he mentally ejac- 
ulated. “The strangeness of the scenery is too 
exciting for her.” 

He continued to watch her anxiously, while 
he brought out the ludicrous side of everything 
in a way that made his wife look at him in 
astonishment, it was so foreign to his usual 
mood. Suddenly she comprehended his motive, 
and with ready tact lent him her aid. This new 
way of sight-seeing on a litter helped them 
wonderfully in their merry-making, and proved 
a less troublesome mode of travel than they 
expected. StiU, they were not sorry when they 
issued from the ravine, and after a short walk 
deposited their burden near the verge of the 
great precipice, or Bastion. 

“ Lie still, Mrs. Blakemere,” said Allison, 
laying his hand with professional authority on 
Gretchen as she was about to rise. “Let us 
rest a little before we look.” So they all obe- 
diently sat down to breathe. 25 


386 


Their Children,''^ 


They were now. on a pinnacle of rock 
that overhung the river Elbe, at an eleva- 
tion of six hundred feet, while up and down, as 
far as the eye could reach, cliff after cliff rose 
side by side with theirs, while on the oppo- 
site bank the plain stretched far away and 
then gradually lifted itself into successive 
elevations, like the seats in some vast Coliseum. 
Beyond all, rose a range of lofty mountains. 
Here and there, upon the plain, stood giant hills, 
solitary and alone, like mighty gladiators wait- 
ing for the signal to begin their terrible conflict. 
Among them one stood high above his fellows, 
holding his mighty crest nine hundred feet 
above the river level. 

The sudden transition from a dark and 
narrow defile to this magnificent sweep 
of sky above, and landscape below, could not 
but make a profound impression on all the party, 
and Allison dreaded its effect on his patient. 
There was a little inn near by to which he 
urged her to go and rest, but as it seemed full 
of people she objected. 

“I can be far more quiet here, Alfred,” 
she pleaded, with her winning smile, and so the 
doctor was overruled. 


Their Children. 


387 


“Will the gentlemen look at the rocks a little 
to one side ? ” the guide asked. “ It will not 
take long.” 

“Yes, go, I will lie here till you come back,” 
Gretchen urged. “ You, too, Mabel,” she 
added, seeing her intention to stay behind with 
her. “ It’s your only chance, I don’t need you. 
I’m going to sleep; you will be back in a 
few minutes.” So, half reluctantly, Mabel 
followed her husband. Before passing out 
of sight, they all turned and kissed their hands 
to her ; she waved hers in return, and shut her 
eyes in token of her determination to rest. 
The rocks were very wonderful, and before 
the trio were aware nearly an hour had been 
spent in their examination. 

“ Poor Gretchen ! she will think we have 
deserted her,” Charles exclaimed, beginning 
instantly to retrace his steps as fast as possible, 
while the others hastened after him. The 
moment their eyes rested on the litter they saw 
that it was vacant. For an instant they 
failed to discover its recent occupant, but 
Charles, whose sight was rendered keen by sud- 
den fear, was the first to spy her as she stood 


388 


Their Children,'*^ 


on the utmost verge of the tremendous preci- 
pice, apparently gazing down into the far depths 
below. He sprang forward like the wind, and 
as he neared her he could see that she was 
slowly bending, bending, more and more, as if 
drawn forward by an unseen hand. Allison 
was close upon him. “We must not startle 
her,” he whispered, “ or she will fall.” 

For one little moment they paused in terrible 
uncertainty as to their best course, and in 
that moment the guide had snatched a broad, 
long .scarf from off the litter, and darting 
silently fQr ward had dextrously thrown the pro- 
tecting barrier before her just as, with a wild 
cry, Geetchen fell, not far down into the dread- 
ful abyss, but into her brother’s arms. 

“ Lay her on the litter, quick, Charles,” Alli- 
son said, hurriedly. It was done, and in utter 
dismay they hung over her, while the doctor 
made a pretense of applying such restoratives 
as they had at hand. From the first, however, 
he felt certain of the heart-breaking truth, but 
he tried to hide it as long as might be from 
his companions, hoping so to break, at least 
in some degree, its crushing force. 


“ Their Children.^' 


389 


At last Mabel cried, in a burst of agony, 
“ O Alfred, it’s of no use ! ” 

“ I’m afraid not, darling,” he said, drawing 
her to him, while he tenderly lifted the masses 
of dark hair from Gretchen’s pale forehead. . 

For a moment Charles gazed wildly from one 
to the other. “What do you mean?” he de- 
manded, almost fiercely. “ Gretchen has only 
fainted from fright.” 

Mabel burst into tears. “ O Charles, God 
help you,” she sobbed. 

At these words the poor fellow sank down be- 
side the lifeless body of his twin sister, and bur- 
ied his face in the folds of her dress. Groan 
after groan escaped him, while his powerful 
frame quivered as if shaken by a palsy. 

Allison and Mabel knelt beside him, but, alas, 
what consolation could they offer in a moment 
like this ? 

At last the doctor laid his hand on Franse’s 
shoulder, saying, gently, “ How shall we get her 
back to Pillnitz, Charles ? ” 

“ As we brought her,” he replied, lifting his 
head and trying to speak calmly. 

“ Perhaps we can get some conveyance at 
the inn,” Allison suggested. 


390 


“ Their Children^ 


“No, I will carry her in my arms,* if you 
are tired.” 

“It’s not that, my dear fellow,” the doctor 
said; “but you can never bear it to take 
this precious burden back the way we came.” 

“Try me,” Charles said, springing to his 
feet. “What is there I cannot do for her^ 

“The gentlemen forget that Otho is here 
to help them,” the guide said, coming respect- 
fully forward from the distance, to which he 
had withdrawn when the brother first com- 
prehended the full extent of the catastrophe. 

“No, we have not forgotten you, by any 
means, my good fellow,” Allison said, taking 
him by the hand. “But for you, our present 
distress would have been heavier yet.” 

Charles laid his hand on Otho’s arm. “ God 
bless you, my man, God bless you, for saving 
her from that horrible fall ! ” he said, grate- 
fully. 

The German, with wet eyes, but a gratified 
smile, bowed reverently, in acknowledgment 
of their words, and then aided them to ar- 
range Gretchen’s still form on the litter, the 
scarf being again used to prevent her from 


‘‘ Their Children.'^' 


391 


falling. Then covering her carefully with the 
shawl she no longer needed for warmth, they 
took up their sorrowful way into the narrow 
defile. 

Scarcely a word was spoken till they reached 
their carriage, from which but a few hours 
since they had parted in lightsomeness of 
heart. Yet when they were once more seated 
in it, Charles holding in his arms the precious 
casket in which so little ago his twin sister’s 
soul was hidden, it seemed that years, not 
hours, must have rolled over them since the 
rising of that morning’s sun. 

“Alfred, tell me what made this happen?” 
]\Iabel said, after they had gone some miles 
on their slow way back to Pillnitz. “It is 
perfectly incomprehensible to me.” 

“ To me it is perfectly plain,” Allison re- 
turned. “ To begin with, I have no doubt 
Gretchen was, from some cause, more than 
usually susceptible to external impressions, 
which accounts for her being highly excited 
by the unusual scenery of the Ottowalder 
Grund. I was uneasy about her all the way.” 

“Yes, dear, I noticed it,” Mabel said, draw- 


392 


“ Their Children^'* 


ing her husband’s arm more closely about her. 
“That was the reason you made her rest be- 
fore looking at the view from the Bastion.” 

“Yes. The transition was enough to ex- 
cite the most stolid,” Allison returned. “But 
no doubt after we left her, she became tired 
of lying still, and thought she would wile 
away the time by looking about her.” 

“But what could the dear child have been 
thinking about to stand bending over the 
very verge of that rock.” 

“Doubtless it is an instance of that strange 
infatuation that sometimes overtakes people of 
nervous temperament when looking off from 
great heights. I have read of it but never 
seen it before. It is mysterious, inexplicable, 
but many have been drawn by it to as ter- 
rible a fate as that from which Otho has 
saved our precious sister.” 

“But, O Alfred, why need she have died?” 
Mabel exclaimed, the tears bursting forth again 
at the thought. 

“Because it was God’s will, my darling,” 
the doctor said, soothingly. “ The physical 
cause was probably sudden fright. As the 


“ Their Children,'*^ 


393 


scaif passed before her it broke the spell, her 
peril flashed upon her, and terror stopped the 
beating of her gentle, pure heart. Let us be 
thankful that she felt only one momentary 
pang. I have been afraid she would have to 
endure a great deal of suffering before the 
end came.” 

“ Why, I thought you hoped she would 
recover?” Mabel said, in surprise. 

“I never said so,” he returned. “All I an- 
ticipated was that she might, with care, have 
years of comfortable health. But, Mabel,” he 
continued, earnestly, “I can see, even in this 
first hour of our sorrow, that the cup is brim- 
ful of mercy,- not only for Gretchen, but 
others, also.” 

Charles paid no attention to their conversa- 
tion. He was wholly absorbed in caring for 
his dead, and in his own thoughts. 

But as the longest road has an end, so 
had their painful ride, and they were glad 
indeed when Pillnitz was reached, and they 
at last laid all that now remained to them 
of Gretchen, lying peacefully in her darkened 
chamber. 


394 


Their Children 


It now remained to attend to the sad de- 
tails so imperatively demanded by death, and 
also to inform their Leipsic friends of the 
♦ sudden calamity. To their surprise and com- 
fort, Margaret came to them next day by the 
earliest train, aiding them by her skill, her 
knowledge, and, above all, her unobtrusive sym- 
pathy, as no one else could have done. It was 
Margaret, who, possessed of a perfect under- 
standing of the art, made sure that Gretchen’s 
remains were thoroughly embalmed. With Ma- 
bel’s help, she robed them in a familiar wrapper, 
always preferred by the wearer, because “ Char- 
ley liked it,” and then secured them against 
injury from the journey to Leipsic. In all this, 
her tact and energy were so entwined with 
the delicacy and grace of her maidenhood, that 
Allison was at a loss which to admire most. 

“ Where can we lay this precious body ?” he 
asked her, before leaving Pillnitz. “We can’t 
sail for home under a week or more.” 

“ Grandma says we must bring it back to the 
south chamber,” she answered, smiling cheer- 
fuUy. 

“ Not really ? ” 


“ Their Children^ 


395 


“Yes, really; why not? Look at it, was 
anything ever more beautiful ? ” 

And so they quietly went back to Madam 
Liebnitz. “ Charles, my poor boy ! ” she said, 
meeting him on the threshold, with outstretched 
arms, as his mother would have done. Some- 
thing in her tones opened the fountain of a 
grief that so far had been silent, finding no out- 
ward expression. With a heart-breaking sob 
he turned from her, and hastened to his room, 
where he was kindly left alone, unvexed by in- 
trusive companionship or sympathy. 

During the time that necessarily elapsed be- 
fore leaving Leipsic, Gretchen lay as if in pro- 
found slumber, upon the couch beside which 
Charles had sat and talked with her for many 
happy hours. Every morning fresh flowers 
rested on her still breast, that rose and fell no 
more with the soft breath that used to come and 
go so gently. Seeing her there in the soft twi- 
light of the darkened room, her pale cheek pil- 
lowed on the delicate blue of the lounge cush- 
ion, it was hard to realize that Death held 
her in his stern grasp. 

“ There beamed a smile 
So fixed and holy from that marble brow, 


396 


“ Their Children. 


Death gazed, and left it there ; he dared not steal 
The signet-ring of Heaven.” 

As Madam Liebnitz hoped, her silent pres- 
ence prevented Charles from feeling that sense 
of utter bereavement that follows the putting 
of the precious clay utterly out of sight. 

Indeed, after a little, Franse was master of 
his grief, which, though intense, was un- 
demonstrative, and he occupied himself in 
his final arrangements with a calm, almost 
cheerful energy that surprised them all. His 
first care was for Herr Humbert, whose first ex- 
clamation on seeing him had been : 

“ Oh, boy ! boy ! that she should be taken 
and I left ! You’re sore beset, but now’s the 
time for the shield and helmet, and all the rest. 
God be praised that He held this trouble back 
till we got on our armor, and our eyes open 
to see where she’s gone. You’ll have her 
back again, boy, and the love you had for her is 
coldness compared to that which is to come. It 
must be so with a God to manage for us whose 
very name is Love.” 

Charles looked at the old man with mingled 
pity, affection and reverence, as these words 


“ Their Children.^'^ 


39T 


struggled forth, with even more than ordinary 
effort on account of his emotion, while one after 
another the big tears rose in the brilliant 
eyes, and rolled slowly over the wrinkled 
face ; tears that the helpless hands had no power 
to dry. 

“ I believe it, dear Herr,” Charles said, 
tenderly wiping away the signs of grief. “ Just 
now it is my strongest consolation.” 

Madam Liebnitz would gladly have taken 
Herr Humbert to her house during Charles’ 
absence, but he would listen to no such plan. 

“ No, no,” he said, “ it’s kind of you, but 
it won’t do. The boy promises to come back 
again, and, meantime. I’ll live on hope, with 
Margaret to help me.” 

So Simon was selected to be his constant 
attendant, and Charles needed no promise from 
Margaret to assure him of her care. 

So, at the appointed time, with hearts cast 
down but not destroyed, the travelers bade a 
sad farewell to Leipsic, and turned toward their 
native land, carrying their dead with them. 
Their voyage was prosperous, but on landing at 
New York Franse determined to allow the doc- 


398 


“ Their Children,'^ 


tor and Mabel to precede him to Ean Claire. 

Before leaving Germany, Allison had written 
Blakemere that a sudden change had come over 
Gretchen, which made it best that she should re- 
turn with them. As their reports of her had 
hitherto been so favorable, they dreaded the 
abrupt announcement of her death, and thus 
tried to prepare him for the worst. But 
skillfully as the difficult task was accomplished, 
poor Blakemere’s first wild grief was terrible to 
witness. 

“ I’ve killed her ! ” he moaned. “ My own 
Gretchen ! My darling wife ! Oh, if she had 
hated me, if she. had scorned me ! But she 
loved me, and I broke her heart.” His hag- 
gard face, his disheveled hair, his disordered 
dress, as he sat bowed down upon the chair 
into which he sank exhausted with the first 
frenzy of his agony, made him seem the per- 
sonification of despair. Dash stood near, his 
sorrowful eyes, his drooping ears, his very 
attitude expressive of a most profound and 
touching sympathy. Now and then a low, 
mournful wail escaped him. But Blakemere 
took no notice. His friends could only watch 


“ Their Children^ 


399 


and wait. Their gentlest words seemed only 
to increase his distress. 

At last he seized his hat and rushed from 
the house, the faithful dog close at his heels. 
Mabel sprang after them, but Allison called 
her back. “ Let him alone, he has gone to 
the woods,” he said. 

“But I’m afraid he will do himself some 
mischief,” she said, excitedly. 

“No, darling, Blakemere is not the man for 
that. He will come back quite calm, I doubt 
not.”. 

Mabel was half disposed to quarrel with 
what she thought her husband’s want of sym- 
pathy in Philip’s grief ; but when, after several 
hours, he came back not only safe, but, as Al- 
lison predicted, quiet, she was obliged to ac- 
knowledge to herself the superiority of his 
judgment. 

Blakemere was now all eagerness for the 
arrival of his wife’s remains. He did not 
seem to realize that Charles was to accom- 
pany them, though Allison distinctly spoke of 
them as being left in his charge. Suddenly, 
however, the idea became distinct in his mind, 
and for the time shut out every other. 


400 


“ Their Children, 


“ Charles Franse ! ” he exclaimed, vehe- 
mently. “I hate the very ground he treads 
on. But for him Gretchen would have loved 
me, and been happy. He made me what I 
have been. Why didn’t he shoot me, stab me, 
anything but turn me over to the rack and 
then bid me ‘smile and smile and be a vil- 
lain ! ’ And then, as if that were not enough, 
he must draw my own sweet Gretchen from 
me to die in his arms, and now he brings her 
back to me ! ” 

These words so aggravated Allison’s soul 
that he spoke unadvisedly with his lips. 
“ Blakemere,” he said, sternly, “ I know as 
well as you do what cause . you have to bless 
Charles Franse. You of all men are the last 
to accuse him of wrong doing.” 

“ Out of my sight, you prating fool,” 
Blakemere cried, fiercely. “ But for your 
abominable meddling all would have been 
well. It was you who persuaded my dead 
wife to leave me.” 

The two were alone together in Philip’s 
room. An angry light flashed for a moment 
in Allison’s eye, his hand clenched, but 
quickly relaxed. 


“ Their Children 


401 


“ Poor fellow,” lie murmured, “ I ought 
not to have said it.” Then he left him with- 
out another word. 

Going to Lottie, he said, “Poor Philip must 
take something to quiet him. He is sorely 
tried. I wish he could sleep. Perhaps you 
can persuade him to take this; he would not 
receive it from me.” Saying which he gave 
her the cup, in vrhich the soothing draught 
was already prepared. 

She took it, and went at once to the cham- 
ber. “Dear Philip,” she said, “Dash and I 
have come to see you a minute. The poor 
dog can’t be easy away from you. See how 
he loves you,” as the animal licked his hand, 
and rubbed his silky head against his arm. 
“ Pat him a little just to comfort him ; and 
take this, it will do you good.” 

“ I don’t want it,” he said, moodily, pushing 
the cup away. 

“ If Gretchen were here she would make you 
take it,” Lottie persisted, stroking his tangled 
hair. At this he seized the glass, and drained it 
at a draught. 

“That’s a good boy,” she said. “Now lie 

26 


402 


Their Children^ 


down on the lounge a little while, and Dash 
will lie in this big chair close beside you, so. 
Here, old fellow.” 

The dog obeyed, but the man sat still. 
“ Come Philip, see Dash’s eyes, how they beg.” 

He got up, and throwing himself on the 
couch began to stroke the faithful animal, who 
uttered suppressed sounds, half of joy, half of 
sorrow. 

Lottie went out and shut the door. Half an 
hour later Allison looked in to find Blakemere 
in a profound slumber. 

The effect of the medicine lasted for hours, 
during which the twins came back to the cot- 
tage, the one still, and cold, and beautiful, the 
other active and strong, though pale and grief- 
striken. So carefully had Gretchen been pre- 
pared for her last earthly journey, that when 
seen in the shadowy quiet of her own parlor, 
with the fresh flowers all about her, she looked 
like a sculptured emblem of peace. Mabel put 
in her hand the letter she had given her for her 
husband, perhaps with a subtle, almost uncon- 
scious foreboding of her coming fate. 

“Let him find it here,” she said. “It will 


‘‘ Their Children^ 


403 


seem as if she spoke to hiin.” But no eye saw 
the meeting. Alone Philip Blakemere went 
into the presence of his dead wife. When he 
came forth he held the letter in his hand, and 
his restless, uncertain eyes were red and swollen 
with shedding many tears. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

N the morning after the funeral, Charles 
stood by the window of the music-room, 
looking sadly at the little grove by the 
lakelet, where he and Gretchen had 
played so many hours in their childish days. 
Mabel was beside him, with her hand upon his 
shoulder, and Allison sat near reading the morn- 
ing paper. The two were talking of the sister 
they had lost. 

“ God bless you, Mabel, for your devotion 
to her,” Charles said, putting his arm about 
her and kissing her gratefully. “Be kind to 
Philip, for her sake. Poor fellow! I wish 
he would see me before I leave.” 

“Perhaps he will,” she said. “You are 
not going at present.” 



404 


“ Their Children 


405 


“Yes, Mabel, sorry as I am to part from you 
and the doctor, I must return to Leipsic as soon 
as possible. Herr Humbert needs me, and 
Blakemere is much better without me.” 

Allison looked up, and said quickly, “You 
are not going, Franse, till you have explained 
matters ? ” 

“ Yes, doctor, I believe I am,” he returned, 
“ the more I think of it, the less reason I see for 
disturbing them. Let Mabel understand, and 
as for the rest, their opinion will not affect me in 
Germany, you know.” . 

“ Charles Franse,” the doctor exclaimed, 
springing to his feet, “ this shall not be. With 
Gretchen’s last breath your motive for silence 
passed away. • If you don’t clear up this mat- 
ter I shall.” 

“ Don’t get excited, Alfred,” Charles re- 
turned, smiling at his vehemence, “ but consider, 
how little it will cost me to continue silent 
when by speaking I shall so darken a reputa- 
tion that has become precious to me for her 
sake. He certainly has enough to bear without 
that.” 


“ What is it, Charles ? Do tell me, Alfred,” 


406 


“ Their Children, 


Mabel cried, turning quickly from one to the 
other. 

“ Tell her, Allison. I shall never forget what 
it cost me to go away to Europe and leave her 
in such perplexity and distress ; but when you 
tell her how I was placed, she will forgive me. 
Now I’ll go and try again if I can’t persuade 
Philip to open his door to me.” 

“He is not in,” Mabel said. “He went 
out some time ago with Dash. Why, there’s 
old Mr. Blakemere coming up the walk,” she 
added. “ How kind of him to come and see us 
so soon.” 

“Let’s see him here,” Allison suggested. 
Charles was visibly agitated, why, Mabel did 
not understand, though she concluded it had to 
do with the mystery which had so long puzzled 
her, and which she had just discovered her hus- 
band could explain, though how he came to 
know more about it than she did was of itself a 
mystery. Conquering himself, Franse went 
forward to meet Mr. Blakemere as he entered, 
though* the memory of their last parting after 
that terrible day and night at the bank, came 
back to him so vividly that he could scarcely 


“ Their Qhildren,^^ 


40T 


stand. To his amazement the old man seized 
his hands, exclaiming, — 

“ God bless you, my boy ! How could I have 
believed you took it ! But oh, to think my own 
nephew was the guilty one ! I never would 
have believed it of him if he hadn’t told me 
himself.” Then the trembhng figure sank down 
on the seat Allison placed for it. 

Mabel saw the look of intense satisfaction 
that came into her husband’s face. “ This is as 
it should be ! ” he exclaimed. “ Mr. Blake- 
mere, Philip has done the right thing at last. 
Let this tell in his favor. Beside, Conrad 
Werner, who told me the whole story the 
night he died, said that Philip was less to blame 
than he was.” 

“ That couldn’t be,” Mr. Blakemere returned, 
“for he was merely a subordinate.” 

“ Very true ; but he led Philip into specu- 
lations where they both became involved, and 
it was at his suggestion that they made use of 
the bank money, hoping to return it before they 
■were discovered. This they would have done 
if the company had not failed, a calamity 
that did not occur until after Philip’s marriage. 


408 


“ Their Children^ 


When the crash came Werner fled, leaving your 
nephew to face the trouble alone, which, as 
Charles was temporarily in his place, resulted in 
his taking the whole thing on his own shoulders, 
disgrace and all, to save G-retcheTi^s husband.’’ 

“ Charles, is this true ? ” Mabel asked, turning 
toward him a face pale with excitement. 

“ I can’t contradict it,” he answered. “Now 
you see that to have confided the trouble even 
to you, was impossible, without betraying 
Phflip.” 

“But how did you make Mr. Blakemere 
think you did it?” 

“ I’ll tell you how he did it,” the old gentle- 
man exclaimed. He called us all together, 
mj'self and the directors, and said as he could 
hide the thing no longer, he thought best to 
confess that in an emergency money had been 
taken in the expectation of re turning it, but the 
venture having failed, he could only replace it 
in part. I was so astounded I could scarcely 
believe my ears. I asked him why he hadn’t 
tc]d me he needed money; didn’t he know I 
would have been glad to help him ? He 
put his head down, and his face was as white as 
your dress.” 


“ Their Children^ 


409 


“ Don’t press me, Mr. Blakemnre,” lie said. 
“ The wrong has been very great, but so is the 
punishment.” 

“ There wasn’t one of us but pitied him pro- 
foundly, and instead of making the thing public 
we decided to hush it up among ourselves. 
The poor fellow had always been so honest and 
faithful, we wanted to give him another chance. 
Just think of it ! that was the way we talked 
about Charles Franse, thinking, all the time, 
how magnanimous we were. Of. course we 
couldn’t keep him in the bank, so at his request 
we let him go after Philip. But he never 
seemed the same after his return, and the whole 
thing has been unaccountable to me till this 
morning, when in he comes in a sort of frenzy, 
says he’ll bear it no longer, that Franse has. 
ruined him, and ever so much beside, and finally 
ends by telling the story of his and Werner’s 
doings. The minute I got hold of it I came 
right away here to beg Charles’ pardon for not 
having known better than to believe it of 
him, even when he said it of himself. We 
must have you back in the bank, Charles,” he 
went on. “ There’s nobody now but you that 
can manage our matters.” 


410 


'‘'‘Their Children.’*^ 


“ By no means, Mr. Blakemere ; you must let 
Philip remain where he is,” Franse replied. 

Mr. Blakemere looked at him a moment in 
silence, and then exclaimed, — 

“ Why, man, you are insane ! ” 

“ No, sh, I’m not ; but hasn’t he been faithful 
since he came back?” 

“Yes, so far as I know; but what of that?” 
“Only this; that he will remain so. What 
he has suffered can be known by his making a 
voluntary confession as soon as possible after the 
sad events of last week. I did not intend to 
expose him, and he knew it. I shall return to 
Germany immediately, but I ask it as a personal 
favor that nothing more be said about this un- 
fortunate affair. Let Philip retain his place. 
Let his good name be preserved for sake of her 
who bore it, and who loved him with the whole 
strength of her pure heart. It is enough for 
me that, in the minds of yourself and the di- 
rectors, I shall henceforth be acquitted of dis- 
honesty.” So saying, he bowed, and stepping 
tlirough the open window walked rapidly 
toward the grove. 

“ Charles is right, Mr. Blakemere,” the 


Their Children^ 


411 


doctor said. “ Let us bury the past in Gretch- 
en’s grave. Perhaps this may open a brighter, 
better future before Philip.” 

“We’ll see what can be done,” he rephed, 
getting up to go home. “ Of course I must 
inform the directors, and I hardly think they 
will consent to his remaining. God knows I 
don’t want to be hard on the poor fellow.” 

Franse was present at the meeting of the offi- 
cers of the bank, and through his persuasions 
they consented to retain Philip Blakemere as 
cashier, and Charles left their presence with 
the load of disgrace and mystery he had so long 
borne utterly lifted from his spirit. 

A card appeared next day, signed by the 
president and directors of the bank, stating that 
some unexplained transactions, tending to throw 
suspicion on the honorable character of Charles 
Franse, having been unexpectedly cleared up, 
they desire to give public expression to their en- 
tire confidence in him as a gentleman and espec- 
ially to bear testimony to his faithfulness while 
acting as cashier of the bank of Blake- 
mere & Co. 

. The gossips of the town being thus dislodged 


412 


“ Their Children'^ 


from their surmises regarding Franse, turned 
their fire against Blakemere, but here they were 
met with the stubborn fact that he was still 
continued in his very responsible position at the 
bank; so they were sorely perplexed, and at 
last determined to rest the whole blame upon 
the memory of Conrad Werner. 

Before leaving for Germany, Franse received 
through Mr. Blakemere his sister’s entire prop- 
erty, in place of his own fortune, every dollar of 
which he had given to the bank, to in part 
make good what had been stolen. 

He accepted it without hesitation as a return 
which was not only his due, but which he had 
no right to refuse at Philip’s hands. 

He said as much in the letter he wrote him 
the night before he left. 

He told him what Gretchen had said when 
he raised her to her feet on their way up the 
glen, and entreated him to remember her as a 
lure to all that was noble in the future. Above 
all, he besought him to strive for those higher 
victories which are only possible to those who 
have the armor on. His closing words were, 
“ make haste to get it, my brother, that together 


‘ ‘ Their Children, ’ ’ 


413 


■we may fight our way to where she waits to 
welcome us.” 

And now, dear reader, the future of those 
whose life we have so far traced seems plain 
before them. 

Blakemere will in future make his home with 
his uncle. As baby Jennie has considerately 
resigned her title to Sir Dash, in favor of “ Poor 
unky Fillet,” he will go with him, for neither 
dog or man could endure a separation. 

Granger will hasten to claim his treasures and 
bear them away to the far west, accompanied by 
aunt Hannah, who is regarded by the maimed 
but happy baby as her own especial lump of 
darkness, which, in reality, is no darkness at all, 
but light instead. 

Charles, once more a free man, will return, 
not wholly sad, to the land where his duty and 
perhaps his pleasure uow chiefly lie. Gretchen 
has been taken, but while Margaret remains, 
the future holds for him a hope that shines in 
spite of sorrow. 

Allison and Mabel will dwell together in the 
cottage, loving and beloved, waiting for the 
time when, perhaps, Herr Humbert and the 


414 


“ Their Children, 


K, 




stately Madam Leibnitz having gone beyond 
their filial care, Charles and Margaret will come 
and make their home in the old familiar place. 

Perhaps sweet girls and merry boys may yet 
frolic by the lakelet, or hush their laughter 
while in Aunt Gretchen’s room their parents 
show them, standing side by side, Lombardo’s 
temple and Antonio’s bronze, teaching them 
how to build for heaven, and secure the armor 
needful for the conflict of life. 

And so we leave them, trusting that as one 
by one they gather in the house not made with 
hands, our gentle Gretchen, ever watching 
through the open door, may see her husband 
coming, clad in that armor she so longed to see 
him wear. 





Lt Ja i6 







